


More Human Than Meets the Eye

by grace_adalyn8472



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Children, John Watson's Blog, Parenthood, Protective John Watson, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_adalyn8472/pseuds/grace_adalyn8472
Summary: It's a huge misconception that the great Sherlock Holmes does not contain a heart. Everyone that truly knows him knows how big of a lie that is. He most definitely has a heart, and it belongs to a 4'2" little girl. Another Sherlock Holmes has a daughter story. Couldn't help myself. This was posted from fanfiction as well. IT IS NOT STOLEN. This is MY work. Thanks guys!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	1. John Watson Meets the Holmes'

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! Couldn't resist doing a Sherlock story. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep this up. But I wanted to at least put it out there. This is another Sherlock has a daughter fic. I happen to be very fond of them for some reason. This story may or may not follow cannon. I haven't decided. However, let it be known now that Sherlock is different from the show's Sherlock. He's still the same snarky, lovable detective, but having a daughter has changed him a bit. The changes will be subtle at first, and might not even be noticeable. But they are there.
> 
> Also, one more thing before I go. I adore John. I often have John and Sherlock fighting for my affections. There's simply not enough John stories out there, and I'm not really one for JohnLock myself. So please...if any of you out there reading this know of any decent John stories please let me know. This is the first thing I've ever posted on this website. I'm usually over on fanfiction, but I wanted to give this one a try. I'm so sorry if the text is wonky. I'm still getting used to it. 
> 
> Enjoy your reading folks.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name!" John Watson was utterly flabbergasted. Here before him stood a tall, very strange man. He had short, dark curly hair. A scarf was hanging loosely around his neck, and he was sporting what appeared to be a very nice dark grey Milford Coat.

"We've only just met each other," John continued, "and you want to go look at a flat together?"

"Problem?" the curly haired man questioned, left eyebrow rising.

John just stared. His mouth opened and closed a few times. He was aware that he probably looked like a blubbering idiot, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a retort. He looked to his left in the hopes of receiving assistance from his friend Mike. However, none was to be found. Mike smiled towards John somewhat smugly.

A bit put out, John finally managed to find his voice again. "Look mate, I don't know if…"

"You're an army doctor," the man interrupted. "You've been invalid from Afghanistan. You've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him due to either his alcoholism or the fact that he just recently walked out on his wife. I'm leaning towards the latter. Your therapist believes that your limp is psychosomatic. She's correct." He ended his rambling and smirked at John, then proceeded to stride towards the door. "That's enough to sate you I believe."

He opened the door and started to strut out before quickly swinging his upper half back inside the room. "The names Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."

The door swung shut behind him, and John stared dumbly at it for a few seconds before swinging his head back towards Mike. The man simply smiled at his dumbfounded friend. "Yeah, he's always like that."

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

John gazed at the bronze letters in front of him curiously, his cane propped carefully next to him.

221B Baker Street.

The sound of a car pulling up interrupted his thought process, and he turned around to see the man from earlier, Sherlock Holmes, get out of his taxi. He closed the car door and leaned back in through the window to hand him the driver money. "Thanks very much," he said before turning around and walking towards John. "Hello again," he greeted, holding his hand out.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," John replied, grabbing his hand in a firm shake. "Sherlock, please," he requested. John nodded and commented, "This looks like a prime spot. Must be expensive." Sherlock hummed. "Yes I suppose it would be." At John's questioning look he continued. " The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, owed me a favor and gave me a special deal."

"Oh?"

"Yes. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to assist her with his sentencing." "You were able to stop her husband from being executed?" John inquired.

"Oh no," Sherlock smiled, "I ensured it."

Before John could respond to _that_ , Sherlock had swung the door open. A small, older woman with a kind face was there to meet them, and John watched as she greeted Sherlock cheerfully. She embraced him, and John was somewhat surprised to see Sherlock briefly return her affections with a hug of his own.

Sherlock allowed his landlady and new flat mate to exchange introductions before making his way upstairs to his abode. He waited patiently for John to limp his way up the necessary steps, and opened the door exposing the living room.

John thought the flat looked nice, very nice indeed. It just needed some tidying up. He said as much. "Well this could be nice. Very nice indeed."

"Yes, my thoughts precisely. So I went ahead and moved in." As he spoke the last sentence, John also said, "Soon as we get all the rubbish cleaned out."

An awkward pause filled the room, and John inwardly cringed. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could, he heard what he thought sounded like a child giggling. "Sorry," he started, looking at Sherlock in confusion. "Did I just hear a child?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I forgot to mention that I have a…"

"Dad!" John swung around towards the door of the flat, watching as a small child burst through and ran straight towards Sherlock.

"…daughter," Sherlock finished. John watched as the little girl ran up to Sherlock and hugged his leg. She only reached up to about a little above his knee, and John ruled her to be about 7 or 8 years old. She had blonde curly hair that reached to about her shoulders. She was turned towards her father so the rest of her features were hidden from him.

"Dad, you're back!" the child exclaimed happily. "Yes," Sherlock simply replied. "I see you've gotten into the ice cream again." The child stepped back a bit from the man, ducking her head. "Yes, well, Mrs. Hudson offered me some and I couldn't be rude and refuse…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again in exasperation. John figured he did that a lot.

"Hello!" He looked down towards the small voice that was suddenly addressing him. "My name's Adaline," she started, walking towards him. "Adaline Cecilia Holmes. But I just go by Adaline." She held her hand out towards John.

Highly amused at her adorable action, he gently took her small hand in his. "Are you going to live with us?" she inquired, looking up at him with big green eyes that matched her fathers. In fact, a lot of her matched her father. She definitely had his particular shade of green eyes. The shape of her nose was from Sherlock, and her ivory complexion matched his as well. The only difference of course was the color of her hair, and a rosiness to her cheeks which made her look very innocent and cherub like.

"I believe so," John answered, and couldn't help but smile back at her when she beamed up at him in response to his statement. "Adaline what on Earth are you wearing on your feet?" Sherlock spoke in an exasperated voice.

John looked down curiously and chuckled. She was wearing bright green rain boots which didn't at all match the blue floral dress she had on. They had little lily pads on them and a frog was show cased near the toe of the boots. John was even more amused when she turned towards her father and the shoes let out a tiny _croak._

"Do you like them?" she grinned excitedly. "Mrs. Hudson got them for me!" "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled suddenly. "Yes dear?" the kind lady inquired, walking inside. "Mrs. Hudson how many times have I told you that if you buy her clothing, it must be sensible?"

The landlady's eyebrows went up in confusion. "I don't know what you mean Sherlock."

_Croak._

John snickered a bit and Sherlock groaned. "Oh lighten up Sherlock," she lightly laughed. "She was such a sweet girl helping me tidy up my apartment and I couldn't resist." Sherlock huffed when Mrs. Hudson and Adaline both looked up at him with innocent smiles. "Oh alright," he conceded. "Next time just make sure you buy her things that aren't so…loud." Mrs. Hudson nodded and looked towards John.

"What do you think of the flat then Doctor Watson? If you'll be needing two bedrooms there's another one right upstairs."

"Of course we'll be needing two bedrooms," he answered, slightly confused. She smiled at him. "Oh don't worry dear, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." John spluttered in indignation and looked to Sherlock, who seemed to be oblivious to the land lady's words. "Sherlock the mess you've made!" Mrs. Hudson continued, also unaware of John's plight.

He watched as Sherlock began to somewhat attempt to tidy up the place. He limped himself over to the nearest armchair and plopped himself down. Adaline giggled at John's silliness and walked over to the coach, croaking the entire way. "Adaline I insist you take your shoes off before walking any further. I simply cannot endure the croaking."

"But dad I can't take them off yet!" She cried, looking at her father imploringly. "Mrs. Hudson says I need to wear them as much as possible to work them in." "Of course she did," he muttered, letting the matter drop.

It was silent throughout the flat for a little bit then, and John glanced around trying to take everything in. His eyes landed on one particular item on the mantel piece. "That's a skull." He stated the obvious. "Friend of mine," Sherlock answered, glaring for a second at Adaline's shoes.

"His name is Rupert," Adaline provided for John. "I much prefer the name Billy," Sherlock countered.

"I looked you up on the internet last night," John said then. "Find anything interesting?" "I found your website," John answered. "The Science of Deduction."

Sherlock smiled at John, quite proud of himself. "What did you think?" His smile fell when John got a hesitant look on his face.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." "That's correct," Sherlock nodded. "I can also read your military career in your face and leg, and your brother's drinking habits by your mobile phone."

"How is that possible?"

"My dad is quite clever, Dr. Watson," Adaline said. Sherlock gave a small smile to his daughter in thanks. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson inquired. She walked over and grabbed the newspaper that had been thrown on the table in the living room. "Three exactly the same."

"Four," Sherlock corrected, walking over to the window and peering out of it. Adaline hopped up from her place on the coach and walked over to her father. She wrapped an arm around his leg, and he glanced down at her, placing his left hand on top of her head. She leaned into him sweetly and he gently began running his fingers through her curls. "There's been a fourth."

John turned his head towards the door when he heard footsteps coming up towards the flat. Inspector Lestrade strode through. The man looked over at John, giving him a polite nod in greeting before looking back towards the curly haired man.

"Uncle Greg!" Lestrade looked down when he suddenly felt something small attach itself to his leg and grip it firmly. "Hello Ada!" he greeted warmly, hugging her back happily. He was quite fond of the little girl, and commented to Sherlock as often as he could how much more pleasant she was than her father.

"Where?" Sherlock asked the detective, cutting right to the chase.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade answered, looking away from the child now and back to Sherlock. "What's new about this one?" Adaline asked, and the detective looked back down, eyebrow raised. "Uncle Greg you wouldn't have come if there was nothing new," she finished smartly. He shook his head a bit at her astuteness, and answered. "This one decided to be a bit different and leave a note. Will you come?"

Sherlock gave a pause before continuing. "Who's on forensics?" "Anderson."

Sherlock grimaced and Adaline looked at her father worriedly. John had no idea what was going on or why Adaline was now somewhat pouting. "Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said.

"Well he won't be your assistant."

"I _need_ an assistant."

Adaline opened her mouth, and without even looking in her direction, Sherlock said, "No, Adaline." She huffed and crossed her arms dejectedly. "Will you come?" Lestrade asked again.

"Not in a police car," he answered. "I'll be right behind." Lestrade thanked the man and left. Silence echoed through the flat for a good five seconds before Sherlock excitedly leapt into the air, clenching his fists triumphantly. He picked his daughter up and whirled her around in a circle happily. The little girl, completely forgetting she was supposed to be upset, giggled wildly and latched onto her father's arms. He plopped a sweet kiss on her forehead before setting her down and running towards the door.

"Brilliant!" he cried. "Absolutely brilliant. Four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh it's Christmas! Mrs. Hudson please watch Adaline for me. I know you won't mind. I'll probably be late coming back; make sure she eats something. Bed by 9:30 at the latest. I will also require sustenance."

"I'm your land lady Sherlock, not your babysitter," she reminded him.

"Something cold will do," he continued. He stopped all movements suddenly and looked towards Adaline. He gave her 'the look' and she sighed and nodded, seemingly understanding just what it entailed. He nodded back, satisfied. "John, have a cuppa and make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

Sherlock darted out of the room, leaving the three remaining occupants staring at each other. Adaline croaked herself over to her father's chair, sitting down. She kept looking towards the door, as if she were waiting for something to happen. "Look at him, dashing about!" Mrs. Hudson tutted. "My husband was just the same." She smiled fondly towards John. "But you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cup of tea. You just rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" John shouted loudly and quite unexpectedly, making Mrs. Hudson and Adaline look at him in shock. "Sorry. I'm so sorry," he back tracked when he realized he had startled a child. She looked at him from her chair, blinking owlishly. "It's just sometimes this bloody thing…"

"I understand dear," Mrs. Hudson cut in. "I've got a hip." John cleared his throat. "A cuppa would be quite lovely, thank you." "Just this once dear," the land lady replied, walking towards her flat. "Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them."

"I'll help Mrs. Hudson!" Adaline threw in sweetly, bouncing towards the older woman. Mrs. Hudson chuckled fondly towards the child. "You just want some more sweets." "Well.." the blonde haired girl started. Mrs. Hudson winked and lowered her voice a bit. "It'll be our little secret dear." Adaline beamed at her and John chuckled at the two. He picked up the newspaper next to him, and began sifting through it.

"You're a doctor," John heard a deep voice say and looked over to see Sherlock leaning against the doorway. His eyebrows rose. "Yes…" he started. "In fact you're an army doctor."

"I am," John confirmed. "Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths."

"Yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes," John answered quietly. He watched as Adaline peeked her way in through the doorway again, having heard her father's voice. "Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock inquired, already knowing the answer. John looked away from Adaline to Sherlock. "Oh God, yes."

The two men headed out of the room towards the front door. "Are you all going out?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Impossible suicides Mrs. Hudson? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took the older woman by her shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent," she said, the smile on her face contradicting her words.

"Who cares about decent?" Sherlock and John headed towards the door, John going outside first. Sherlock went to follow when he stopped suddenly and turned back towards the flat. John turned as well and saw that Adaline had grabbed the back of her father's coat. Sherlock kneeled down to her level.

"I'll be back very soon," he promised quietly. Adaline said nothing, only gazed at her father very seriously for several seconds. She bit her lip and creased her eyebrows and John had to fight back a smile at the adorableness. He didn't dare move for fear of interrupting the father-daughter moment. She nodded then, and Sherlock moved towards her, grabbing her small body in a tight hug before kissing the side of her head and standing to his full height once again, and bounding outside.

"The game is on!"


	2. A Study in Pink, part One

_Previously: "I'll be back very soon," he promised quietly. Adaline said nothing, only gazing at her father very seriously for several seconds. She bit her lip and creased her eyebrows and John had to fight back a smile at the adorableness. He didn't dare move for fear of interrupting the father-daughter moment. She nodded then, and Sherlock moved towards her, grabbing her small body in a tight hug before kissing the side of her head. He stood to his full height once again, and bounded outside._

_"The game is on!"_

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

Sherlock called for a taxi and soon the two of them were headed for Brixton. They sat in silence for a while. Sherlock fidgeted on his Blackberry phone while John stole nervous glances between him and the outside scenery. Finally, Sherlock lowered his phone.

"You have questions," he stated. John noticed that he didn't pose it as a question. "Yeah, where are we going?" he started.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"You have a daughter."

Sherlock paused; he wasn't expecting that to be the next question. "…yes," he drew the word out a bit. "I apologize for not telling you about her when we first met. I realize that living with a child isn't exactly ideal for some people but…"

"No, no it's alright," John interrupted, shaking his head. "I don't really mind. She's adorable," he chuckled. "Isn't she?" Sherlock agreed, smirking. "I'm quite attached to her myself."

"If you don't mind me asking, where's her mother?"

"Dead," Sherlock answered concisely. "Oh my…I'm so sorry. That was so uncouth of me. I didn't think…" the army doctor began sputtering. "Oh it's fine," Sherlock reassured the man. "She died about seven years ago. Very close to the time Adaline was born."

"You raised her all on your own then?" John inquired. "Somewhat," Sherlock said simply. He didn't make a notion to elaborate. John felt as though he'd already pried far too much at this point, so he quickly moved on.

"So, uh, who are you then? What do you do exactly?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock countered, looking outside.

"Well," John began, hesitant, "I'd say private detective…" "But…" Sherlock prompted.

"…but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." "What does that mean?" John asked, completely overcome by his curiosity now. "It means," Sherlock started, "that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock looked away from the window at that moment, and John almost felt bashful with the look he was giving him. He stopped himself from retracting his statement. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes I was. How _did_ you know?" John asked him, leaning forward in his seat. "I didn't know. I _saw._ Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room…It was quite obvious that you were an army doctor. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp gets really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan….Afghanistan or Iraq," he loudly clicks the 'K' sound at the end of the final word, and John just stared. He was in utter disbelief of this man.

"You," John started, and found he had to clear his throat. "You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. My daughter could figure that out. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?" John prompted him to continue. Sherlock held his hand out and John looked at him questioningly. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Your phone please." John looked at him wearily but reached in his side pocket, handing the detective his device dutifully. Sherlock took it and examined it as he spoke. "Your phone is expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then."

He turned the phone over, studying the back. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me at this moment wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit of course, is child's play. You know it already."

"The engraving," John said quietly.

_Harry Watson_

_From Clara_

_Xxx_

"Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

John was absolutely beside himself at this point, and couldn't contain the wonder in his voice. "How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?"

Sherlock merely smiled at the man. "Complete shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

Sherlock got a somewhat dark look on his face at that point, but it came and went so quickly John wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. The detective handed the army doctor his phone back, and said, "There you go, you see – you were right."

John looked at the man, both eyebrows raised now. "I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock looked out the window again after he said this, and he bit his lip nervously, awaiting John's reaction. John saw this action and realized where Adaline had picked it up from. Sherlock was sure he had just blown the whole getting a new flat mate thing. He had let his mouth run away again, and he and Adaline were probably going to have to move, yet again. He felt shame wash over him, and a bit of disgust. How was he going to explain this to his daughter?

"That…was amazing." When Sherlock heard John's words, he whipped his head around to stare at him, shocked. He didn't say anything for several seconds. "Do you think so?" he said coolly, trying not to convey the surprise he was feeling.

"Of _course_ it was," John nodded emphatically. "It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people ordinarily say," Sherlock admitted. "What do people normally say then?" John asked.

"Piss off." Sherlock smiled briefly at John who laughed quietly and looked out the window.

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

The cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens, and the two men got out and walked towards the police tape that was strung across the road. "Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked while they walked. He just wasn't able to contain his curiosity.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker," John explained. Sherlock's chest puffed up a bit, and John laughed at how impressed he looked with himself. "Spot on, then," the detective bragged. "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"Harry's short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, and noticing this, John stopped as well, looking back towards the man. "Harry's your sister."

"Look," John said, continuing onward again. "What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" Sherlock muttered to himself furiously, gritting his teeth together. "Sister! There's always something! Another lesson to impart to Adaline then…"

The two men approached the police tape where they were met by Sergeant Donovan. "Hello freak," Donovan sneered, and John was taken aback by the malice in her tone. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock cut to the chase, annoyed already. "Why?" she asked stupidly.

"I was invited," he explained shortly. "Why?" she repeated. John realized at that moment that he didn't very much like this woman. Sherlock sighed to himself, as though trying to gather up the bit of patience he had left. "I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally," he muttered, and began lifting up the tape.

"Where's baby freak?"

John watched as Sherlock stopped all of his movements. His back became tense and he didn't move for a very long four seconds. Suddenly he took a deep breath and turned to look at the woman. "You didn't make it home last night," he said simply.

"I don't…" Donovan started. "Who's this?" she countered, looking at John. John opened his mouth to answer but Sherlock beat him to it. "Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Sherlock turned to John with a bored look on his face. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." He paused then, and his nose twitched a bit. "Old friend."

"A colleague?" the woman screeched. "How do _you_ get a colleague?! What, did he follow you home?" she questioned John, and he pursed his lips together in annoyance towards the woman's attitude. "Look," he said, choosing to look at Sherlock. "Would it be better if I just waited and…"

"No," Sherlock said, lifting the tape for him. The two of them walked towards the crime scene. Donovan lifted up her radio to her mouth. "Freak's here. Bringing him in." John heard her comment and shot a glance towards Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock appeared as though he hadn't heard her.

When they got to the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall walked out of the house, approaching the two men. "Ah, Anderson," Sherlock said to him. "Here we are again."

Anderson looked at him with distaste. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that? It's bad enough you bring your baby freak up here sometimes. Training them young are we?"

Sherlock took another deep breath in through his nose, and when he spoke, he voice was steady. "Quite clear. Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't pretend you worked that out," Anderson sneered. "Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?" Anderson repeated. Sherlock smirked then. "It's for men." Anderson scoffed. "Well of course it's for men! _Í'm_ wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Anderson stopped and looked around in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed very pointedly. "I think it just vaporized. May I go in?" Anderson turned back around and pointed at the detective angrily. "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply…"

"No, _you_ look," Sherlock suddenly thundered, and John had to stop himself from stepping back at the man's sudden change of tone. "I can excuse you calling me names. The two of you are blubbering idiots and together have the IQ of a flea." John watched as Sherlock bowed himself up even more towards the man. "However, if the word freak leaves your mouth one more time in concerns to my daughter..if I even feel as though your tongue is trying to form the word, or any other type of derogatory, vile name, I will make both of your lives an absolute living hell."

Sherlock leaned in close to Anderson's face, who at this point looked as though he was trying to get a hold on himself.

"Do. Not. Test Me." He finished darkly. He shoved himself past both Anderson and Donovan, and John snickered at their pale faces. "Also," Sherlock started again, and the two of them looked at the man cautiously. "I'm sure Sally came round last night for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan looked at the detective in horror. He looked at them pointedly, then turned and walked into the house. John walked past Donovan, briefly looking down to her knees, and back up to her face. He raised an eyebrow at her, making sure the woman knew he was judging her, and followed Sherlock inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this ended in sort of a weird place, but I really prefer my chapters to be shorter. I feel like I lose myself if they're too long. I am already half way through the third chapter, and might even have it up by today, just because I have nothing better to do ;) thank you all so much for reading! Please take the time to review, I love receiving feed back!


	3. A Study in Pink, part two

Adaline hummed to herself as she finished the last two bites of her garlic toast. Mrs. Hudson had taken pity on the young girl being left behind by her father, so she'd fixed up her favorite meal for her, other than ice cream of course. Spaghetti and meatballs.

Mrs. Hudson walked into her living room and chuckled warmly as she watched the young girl eat her dinner quite contentedly. Unlike her father, Adaline quite enjoyed eating. She did forget to do so sometimes when she got too caught up in something, but she was always more than willing to accept an offer for a meal or a snack. "Adaline dear," she began. "Don't forget to wash up when you're finished with your dinner."

Adaline looked up and smiled at her landlady. "Ok, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you again for dinner." Mrs. Hudson laughed and waved her off. "Oh it's not a bother sweetheart. Thank you for keeping me company!" Mrs. Hudson did not of course have children of her own, which was quite sad for the simple fact that the kind older woman had a sweet persona that was perfect for being a mother or grandmother. When Sherlock and Adaline first showed up at Baker Street, it wasn't very hard for Mrs. Hudson to fall in love with the child. She very quickly 'adopted' her as her grandchild, and Adaline was more than happy to act the part.

Adaline heard the front door swing open, and footsteps that could only belong to her father echoed through the flat. She looked at the time in confusion. It was still rather early, and hadn't her father told her he'd be out late? She shot up and shouted a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, who peaked her head around the kitchen wall. "See you later dear!"

Adaline jogged up the stairs into the flat. She stepped into the living room and watched as her father went over to the kitchen area, placing a very bright pink suitcase into a chair. "You're back early, aren't you?" she asked him. Her curiosity took hold of her and she walked to the pink suitcase, examining it. Sherlock glanced at his daughter, noting that she was already dressed in her night clothes. "It didn't take as long as I thought it would," he answered her.

She looked around then, noticing that something, or rather someone, was missing. "Dad, where's Mr. John?" She became suspicious when he opted not to answer her question, and after three seconds when he still acted as though he hadn't heard her, she scolded him, "Dad…" Sherlock looked at his daughter then and tried very hard not to laugh when she put her hands on her hips and began tapping her foot in an impatient manner. She was trying to be serious and would get upset if he laughed at her efforts. "I may or may not have left him…." he began. "Dad!" she cried, her mouth falling open.

"Mr. John has a limp! You can't abandon a man with a limp!" "Adaline," he sighed. "He's a grown man. He knows how to call for a taxi." "It's still very rude to do something like that! Mr. John is a nice man. We don't do rude things to nice people dad," she scolded. He looked at her for several seconds, taking note of her pleading expression. He sighed, defeated. He supposed he wasn't setting a very good example for his daughter.

"Very well then." Sherlock took off his scarf and coat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and typed a quick text. He hit the send button and looked at his daughter, who was now wearing a smile on her face. "What did you say?" she asked, already having known what he was doing. "To come at once if convenient."

"What if it's not convenient?" she pointed out innocently. He paused and then scowled, sending another text out.

If inconvenient come anyway. SH

Adaline nodded, seemingly satisfied. She went over to her father's chair and plopped down, watching as he went into the kitchen. She rolled her eyes when she realized what he was doing. "How many are you going to use this time?"

"Three," he answered shortly. Sherlock pulled a box of nicotine patches out of one of the kitchen drawers. He took out the necessary patches and walked over into the living room. Rolling up his sleeves, he applied the patches on his arm and laid down on the sofa in his favorite praying position.

"Mrs. Hudson made me spaghetti," the child started, folding her feet up under her. Sherlock merely hummed and pressed on his patches, trying to release the substance more quickly. "She fixed that really tasty garlic bread I like."

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to his daughter ramble on. He could easily block her voice out if he needed to, but he found he actually enjoyed listening to her speak about her daily activities. His eyes closed for a bit, and then snapped back open, staring at the ceiling. Adaline heard the door open and looked over to see John come through. She smiled at him in greeting and he smiled back for a second before looking over at her father.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock showed John his patches and commented, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He clicked the 'k' on the end of his last word, and John looked at him incredulously. "Is that three patches?"

"It's a three patch problem," he explained simply. John looked at Adaline. "Does he do this a lot?" She simply shrugged and said, "He says breathing is boring." John rolled his eyes. "Well?" he prompted.

Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced at him in question. "You asked me to come," he continued, " I'm assuming it's important." "Oh yes, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone.." John repeated slowly. "I don't want to use mine," Sherlock explained. "There's always a chance my number will be recognized." "Does Mrs. Hudson not have a phone?" John questioned, voice rising a bit. "Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. I don't want to walk all the way down there just to use her phone.." he explained in a "duh" voice.

"I was on the other side of London," John exclaimed angrily. "There was no hurry," Sherlock said innocently. John sighed angrily and looked up to the ceiling in exasperation. Adaline giggled at their antics from her father's chair. John dug around in his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Here."

Sherlock merely held his hand out towards John, palm up. John glowered at him and then stepped forward, slapping the phone into the detective's hand. John turned and walked towards Adaline before facing Sherlock again. "So what's this about the case?"

"Her case." Sherlock corrected softly. "Her case?" "Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake." "Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock quietly. His voice rose and he said, "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

"Wait a minute," John started, his temper building again. "You brought me here…to send a text?" "Text, yes. The number on my desk." John snatched his phone from Sherlock and ignoring his instructions, went and looked out the window. Adaline frowned, sensing John's unhappiness. "Dad," she started. "You're being very rude." "It's alright Adaline," John soothed. "I met a friend of yours," he stated in Sherlock's direction. "A friend?" Sherlock said, wearing an expression of mild confusion. "Dad doesn't have friends Mr. John," Adaline informed him, shaking her head.

"An enemy then." Sherlock relaxed and nodded, but Adaline frowned at John. "Which one?" John looked down at her when she asked this question. She sounded quite serious. "Your arch-enemy according to him. Do people even have arch-enemies? Is that a thing?"

Sherlock looked at John, narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. "Did he offer you money?" "Yes." "Did you take it?" he questioned, looking very closely at the shorter man.

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Adaline nodded and John realized that they knew something he didn't. "Who is he?" "The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number."

John shot Sherlock a dark look, but dutifully moved towards the desk. He picked up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. "Jennifer Wilson. That was…hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" "Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "Just enter the number." John shook his head but began to type the number into the phone.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."  
"Have you done it?"

"Ye…hang on!" Adaline looked at Sherlock disapprovingly. "Dad don't rush him." "Sorry dear," he replied absently. "Type these words exactly. 'What happened to Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'"

John started to type, but stopped when he heard what Sherlock was saying. He looked at him, briefly, mildly concerned. Sherlock continued his narration. " 'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?" John asked, frowning at his new flat mate. "What happened?" Adaline questioned her father, her voice rising with her worry. Sherlock sat up and looked at the both of them. "Nothing happened Adaline. I did not black out." Sherlock stood up, walking over the coffee table to get to the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly." Sherlock went into the kitchen, grabbing the pink suitcase from the chair. He walked over to the dining table, lifting a dining chair and flipping it around, setting it down in front of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He put the suitcase into the dining chair.

Turning around, he shooed his daughter out of his chair with a flourish of his hands. She scowled, and instead of going over to the couch, decided to sit on the floor next to him and his chair. "Have you sent it?" Sherlock inquired.

"What's the address?" "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Do hurry up!" John finally finished the message. He looked up only to see Sherlock unzipping the case and flipping open the lid, revealing the contents. Adaline looks inside, curious. She saw a few things of clothing and underwear, all an alarming shade of pink..big surpise, there…a washbag, and a paperback novel that was definitely not for young children. She picked it up to examine it, but before she could get a good look at it Sherlock had snatched it out of her hands. "I don't think so," he muttered, setting it to the side. She huffed.

"That's….that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." Adaline looked up at John then, her eyebrows creased. Did he just now figure that out? Sherlock, continuing to study the case, only commented, "Yes, clearly." John continued to stare, and Sherlock, becoming aware of the silence, looked up and studied him for a second. He rolled his eyes in irritation. "Oh, perhaps I should mention. I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did." "Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John asked worriedly. Adaline nodded, and her father smirked. "Now and then, yes." Sherlock leaned back into his chair, lifting his feet up and under him. He clasped his hands under his chin.

"Okay." John limped over across the room and dropped heavily into the chair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?" he demanded. "By looking." "Where?"

Adaline listened to her father explain how he found the pink suitcase. She realized that her bottom was beginning to hurt because of the hardwood flooring, so she stood up, and plopped right into her father's lap. He grunted a little, glaring at her, as if to say, you did that on purpose. She merely smirked and cuddled back into his chest. "Took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock finished. He mindlessly began running his fingers through his daughter's hair, and John took a second to admire the sweet moment. "You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" he asked, though he figured he shouldn't be too surprised by now.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock stated. "Why didn't I think of that?" John muttered to himself. "Because you're an idiot," Sherlock stated plainly. John looked across to him, feeling very wounded. Adaline sighed in dismay at her father's lack of tact, even as she snuggled deeper into his chest. It was definitely past her bed time…

Sherlock waved off John's shock with a placatory movement of his hand. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." "Everyone huh?" John repeated, nodding his head towards the little girl half asleep on her father's chest. Sherlock sniffed and hugged his daughter briefly. "Almost everyone." John rolled his eyes. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?" John cried.

"Her phone," a small, very sleepy voice said suddenly. Both men looked down towards the girl. Sherlock smiled and hugged his daughter close to him. "Good job, darling," he whispered to her. "Her phone," he confirmed, a little louder so John could hear. "Where's her phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. That's her number there—you just texted it."

John shrugged. "Maybe she left it at home." Sherlock readjusted his daughter in his lap, shushing her when she murmured in disapproval. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home." John looked at Sherlock, looked to the phone, and then back to Sherlock again. Realization came over his face. "Why did I just send that text?" "The question, John, is where's her phone now?" "She could have lost it," John suggested.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, or…?" "The murderer," John started slowly, "you think the murderer has her phone?" "Maybe she left it when she left her case," Sherlock provided. "Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

John's heart beat sped up, and he could feel himself beginning to feel..panic? Yes, that had to be panic. "Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?!" His voice rose quite a bit for his last sentence, and Sherlock quickly reprimanded him. "Shh!" He glanced pointedly down at the child in his arms. "If she wakes up it'll be hell trying to get her to go back to sleep."

John sent him an apologetic glance, and lowered his voice. "What good will texting him do?" As if on cue, his phone begins to ring.

Withheld

Calling

He looked across to Sherlock as the phone continued to ring. "A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If someone had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that. But the murderer…" He trailed off dramatically until the phone stopped ringing.

"….would panic." Sherlock stood then, very carefully mind you, easily lifting his daughter off of his lap into his arms. He cuddled her close to his chest and headed to his bedroom. He passed John and then paused, looking back towards the man. "Do you mind?" he gestured. John instantly nodded, knowing what he meant. He pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed his cane. The two men walked towards the bedroom, John opening the bedroom door for the detective. Sherlock gave him a whispered thank you and walked over to the bed. He pulled back the covers and carefully laid his daughter down in the middle of the bed, just how she liked it. He pulled the covers around her tightly, tucking her in. John watched as Sherlock stepped back from the bed, looking around his room for a second.

He walked over to the corner of the room where a chair set, and picked something up out of the seat. When he turned around, John smiled softly at the stuffed kitten toy he held in his arms. Walking back over to the bed, he tucked the cat in close to his daughter. The girl smiled in her sleep and hugged it to her tightly. Sherlock smoothed the hair away from her face, kissed her forehead, and whispered a loving goodnight to her.

He walked out of the bedroom and grabbed the door, pulling it shut just enough to where the bedroom stayed dark, but making sure that a tiny amount of the hallway light could still be seen. He turned to face John then, and scowled when he saw the look on his face. "Not one word," he warned, eyes narrowing.

John snickered. "I wasn't going to say anything." Sherlock hummed disbelievingly. The two of them quietly walked back to the living room, Sherlock walking towards his jacket. "Have you talked to the police about all this?" John asked, watching him. "Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police." "So why are you talking to me?" Sherlock reached behind the door, grabbing his greatcoat from its hook. He looked towards the mantelpiece then, noticing something missing.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." John huffed, "So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine," Sherlock praised, putting on his coat. John didn't move from his position. Sherlock, stopping his movements as well, lifted an eyebrow towards him. "Well?"

"Well what?" "Well, you could just sit there and watch telly," Sherlock began. "What, you want me to come with you?" John asked incredulous. "I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk out loud. Adaline is asleep and the skull attracts attention, so…." John smiled then.

"Problem?" Sherlock questioned. "Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock looked away in exasperation. "What about her?" "She said you get off on this. You enjoy it."

Without missing a beat, Sherlock stated, quite nonchalantly, "And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." Sherlock turned and walked out the door. John sat there thoughtfully for several seconds, then angrily grabbed his cane, following his new flat mate out the door.

"Damn it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: LOL I adore Sherlock and John's interactions. Very fluffy father-daughter time in this chapter. Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can. Please review, and I'll see you all next time!


	4. A Study in Pink, part three

_Previously: Without missing a beat, Sherlock stated, quite nonchalantly, "And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." Sherlock turned and walked out the door. John sat there thoughtfully for several seconds, then angrily grabbed his cane, following his new flatmate out the door._

_"Damn it!"_

**SHSHSHSHSHSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

_knock knock knock_

Adaline woke up as soon as she heard what sounded like someone knocking on the front door. She scrunched her eyes tightly together, cursing being a light sleeper, and tried desperately to drift back off into dreamland. When the noise didn't occur again after about a minute, she rolled over, snuggling deeper into her covers, sighing in contentment when she finally found another comfy spot.

_knock knock knock_

Eyelids flew open.

Groaning and grumbling, the seven year old quite literally rolled herself out of her father's bed, hitting the floor with a dull _thump._ Eyes still halfway closed, she picked herself off the floor and began walking towards the front door. Still suffering from sleep disorientation, as she walked out of the bedroom, she didn't turn her body quite far enough to make it completely out the door, and she whined when she felt her left little toe hit the corner of the bedroom door frame. **(A/N: Has this ever happened to anyone? No? Just me? Continuing on.)** Eyes watering, toe throbbing, she slowly hopped her way into the living room.

The girl walked into the living room, flipping on one of the lamps that her father or Mr. John must've turned off when they left. She had almost made it to the front door when suddenly, it was slammed wide open. Frozen in shock, she listened as Mrs. Hudson made a sharp cry of indignation.

"You can't go in there you brutes!" she cried fiercely. Adaline watched, eyes wide, as Inspector Lestrade strode into her and her father's living space, followed by several other police officers. "Just search everywhere," Lestrade instructed his crew. "There's no telling where anything might be."

"Uncle Greg?"

Lestrade looked over when he heard what had to be his adopted niece's voice, softly call out to him. "Ada?" he frowned, looking the girl over. She was still in her night clothes, which consisted of an adorable set of purple pajamas with kittens all over them. Her curly blonde locks were in a disarrayed mess on her head, and she rubbed her eyes several times. It became very obvious to the detective then that she had just woken up, and he felt a stab of dismay and guilt run through him when he realized that he and his team had probably just frightened the little girl, bursting into the flat like they had. "Where's your father?" he questioned, looking around the flat.

"He's not here! I was watching her while he and John went out." Mrs. Hudson answered, standing at the door. She constantly shook her head and tutted in disapproval at the madness in front of her. "And he would not appreciate you breaking into his flat like this, especially while his daughter was here. Alone," she ended, huffing indignantly. Lestrade paused at her ending statement, actually beginning to look a bit nervous.

"What's going on?" Adaline asked. She watched as several officers went into the kitchen and starting opening and closing the drawers. "It's a…" Lestrade began, not knowing quite what to tell the child. Adaline simply raised an eyebrow at her 'uncle,' and the Inspector, remembering who's child he was talking to, decided to finish his statement.

"….drugs bust."

"Be a good baby freak," Adaline heard a voice say to her left. "..and keep out of the way," Anderson taunted at her. She had to swerve sharply to the right to avoid being sideswiped by the awful man, who was making it his new goal in life to dump out as many drawers as possible. "We don't want the little girl contaminating any evidence."

"Anderson!" Lestrade barked, not pleased with the words being spoken, or the tone of voice. He was still "Uncle Greg" and no matter whose daughter she was, she was still only a little girl. He wouldn't tolerate a grown man name calling a child. Besides, if Sherlock had heard him…

Right on cue, a loud bang was heard as the front door slammed shut. Adaline heard Mrs. Hudson ask Sherlock what he had done, Sherlock responding in a confused manner. The blonde haired girl heard hurried footsteps climbing up the stairs, and then her father was striding through the door, army doctor close behind. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, eyes searching the room almost frantically.

"I'm here," Adaline called out to him. Sherlock's eyes snapped to hers. The man took three long strides, and then he was standing in front of his daughter. He kneeled down to her level, something he did a lot, and grasped her arms. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking into her eyes and studying her facial expressions. He would know instantly if she were lying. "I'm fine," she reassured him, hugging him back when he pulled her into him. She pulled away and crossed her arms grumpily. "They woke me up though."

Sherlock smiled for half a second, knowing that she was in fact properly upset at being woken up. His daughter enjoyed her sleep as much as she enjoyed her ice cream. The smile was gone off of his face though when she hugged him a second time, grasping on to him a little too tightly. They had scared her. His eyes hardened just slightly, and he called out calmly to his flat mate.

"John."

John had been watching as his new living space got violated, scowling when one of the officers dumped out another kitchen drawer. What the hell was happening? He heard a familiar voice call his name, and looked to his right. Sherlock was hugging Adaline who looked to be grasping on to her father's shoulders very tightly. Her green eyes were wide and clearly unsettled at the current events. Quickly realizing what was being requested of him, he went over to the pair, standing behind Adaline and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Adaline unconsciously leaned back into John, and Sherlock stood up, satisfied that his daughter was now taken care of. He turned away from John and Adaline, looking towards Lestrade and his crew. "I don't like repeating myself," he addressed them all, baritone voice ringing throughout the room. "What is happening here?"

"Don't worry, Sherlock," Lestrade spoke. "We didn't interrogate Ada. We knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." "You're correct, Inspector," Sherlock agreed. "You're not stupid." Lestrade was surprised for a moment at his words, however he scowled when Sherlock continued.

"You've passed far beyond stupid. You're a complete imbecile if you think you and your lot can break into my flat like this." "You can't withhold evidence," Lestrade argued. "And we didn't break in." "Oh?" Sherlock countered, voice hard. "So you and your men didn't burst into my living room unannounced?"

"I don't believe my daughter knew you were coming over judging by the fear in her eyes."

Lestrade had the smarts to look guilty at that last statement. "We didn't know she'd be here alone," he said, glancing over at Adaline apologetically. "What do you call this then?" Sherlock continued.

"It's a drugs bust."

John, who had decided to be silent up to this point and focus on comforting Adaline, now spoke up. "Seriously?" he snorted. "This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?"

"John," Sherlock said quietly, trying to stop the man. Adaline started fidgeting within John's arms. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day," he continued unknowingly, "and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." "Mr. John," Adaline said pleadingly. John looked down, frowning at her tone of voice. He studied the uncomfortable child, and then his eyes slowly traveled to his flat mate. The two held gazes for a long moment as a brief silence fell over the flat.

Adaline began fidgeting even more, not being able to handle the tension that had built up in the room. She was somewhat thankful when John's quiet, unbelieving voice finally broke through the silence.

"No."

"What?" Sherlock questioned nervously.

" _You_?" John said, completely surprised. "Shut up!" Sherlock countered angrily, turning back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No," Lestrade shook his head. "Anderson's my sniffer dog." "What? An…" Sherlock started. Lestrade nodded towards the kitchen where about four officers were scouring around. Anderson turned around at the mention of his name. He waved sarcastically at Sherlock.

Adaline watched the exchange wearily. She felt eyes on her then, and looked up to find her father looking at her closely. Too closely. He was searching for something….She quickly looked down when his gaze became too much. Sherlock, having received his answer, let out a growl. "Anderson," he snarled, and John noted to himself that he spoke the man's name like it was a curse. "What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh I volunteered," Anderson sneered, venom dripping. Adaline glared fiercely at the man, wishing she was tall enough to punch him in the face. "They all did," Lestrade threw in. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Adaline scoffed at that and Sherlock bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

Donovan came into the room then. She was holding a glass jar with white, round objects swimming inside. "Are these _human_ eyes?" she cried, holding the jar up. "Put those back!" Sherlock demanded. "They were in the microwave!" the woman said, disgusted. "It's for an experiment you twit!" Adaline shouted, very upset now at the way they were treating and regarding her father. John held her tighter when he heard the distress in her voice, shushing her softly. Sherlock threw her a glance telling her to calm down and she huffed, her body going lax against John's.

When Sherlock was sure that his daughter wasn't going to spew out any words or phrases that a little girl certainly shouldn't be saying, he looked to Lestrade and spat out, "This is childish!"

"Well, I'm _dealing_ with a child," the Inspector retorted. "Sherlock this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" The detective stopped where he had been wearing the floor away with his angry pacing and glared at the grey haired man in front of him. "Oh, what, so..so you set up a _pretend_ drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if we find anything," Lestrade stated quietly.

Adaline was watching the interaction very cautiously, her teeth continuing to bite away at her lower lip. "I am clean!" Sherlock loudly proclaimed. "Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt, rolling up his sleeve to show off the nicotine patch on his lower arm.

"Neither do I." Lestrade rolls up the right sleeve of his own jacket, showing a similar patch to the curly haired man. Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away, and both men proceeded to fix their clothing. "So let's work together," Lestrade offered. "We found Rachel."

"Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

Adaline shifted away from John a little, and he looked at her questioningly. She smiled at him reassuringly and shuffled over to her father's chair. The child snuggled down into the seat, receiving a small amount of comfort from the familiar smell. "You need to bring Rachel in," her father proclaimed. "You need to question her. I want to question her."

"She's dead," Lestrade informed.

"Excellent!"

John and the others looked over at the man, shocked. Adaline just sighed, exasperated, very accustomed to her father's ways. "How, when, and why?" he continued, unperturbed. "There has to be some sort of connection."

"Well, I doubt it," Greg said, "since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John grimaced at this information and turned away. When Sherlock heard the words however, he was confused.

"No, that's…that's not right. How…why would she do that. _Why_?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson questioned, upper lip going up. "Yup, sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Without even looking towards the dim witted man, Sherlock threw a sharp glance to his daughter, who had at this point, had enough of Anderson's comments. When she met her father's gaze, which basically said, _If you get up you'll regret it,_ she huffed loudly and slammed back into the seat.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his daughter's antics, and turned back towards the crew. "She didn't _think_ about her daughter," a voice said, and Sherlock swung _back around_ to look towards Adaline again. Her eyes were wide and caught off guard to see everyone suddenly looking at her, and she looked as though she had even surprised herself by speaking up.

Adaline blushed a bright red at all of the eyes that swiveled towards her, and she was seconds away from burying her head in a hole when she spotted her father giving her an encouraging nod. She gulped and forced herself to straighten, trying with all her might to look much more confident than she felt. When she spoke, she was proud to say that her voice didn't waver...that much. "She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying and probably didn't have a lot of strength left. That takes a lot of effort to do something like that. And it would've hurt."

Sherlock wasn't ashamed at all to say that when his daughter finished her explanation, a giant, proud smile stretched across his face. He couldn't have stopped it if he tried. Adaline immediately ducked her head when she was finished speaking, as though all of the courage had suddenly drained out of her.

"The victims all took the poison themselves," John spoke up, feeling sorry for the girl. "You said he makes them take it. Well maybe he…I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

Sherlock turned to look at him, genuinely puzzled. "Yeah, but that was ages ago? Why would she still be upset?"

John stared at Sherlock for what seemed like the fifteenth time that day in utter disbelief. The detective realized that the whole flat had gone silent, and looked back awkwardly at John. "Not good?"

John glanced around at the others, his gaze stopping on Adaline who was shaking her head at her father hopelessly. " _Bit_ not good, yeah," he confirmed.

Sherlock quickly shook off the incident and stepped closer to John, looking at him intently. "But if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in you very last seconds, what would you say?"

"Please God, let me live."

Adaline sucked in a sharp breath when John said this, her eyes becoming very sad for the kind man she was growing to like very much. It was obvious from his tone and the way his body slumped a bit that he'd had firsthand experience with that situation. Sherlock, thankfully, seemed to realize that he needn't continue on with that specific line of questioning, and hurriedly continued.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever…" his voice trailed away. "Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers; she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."


	5. A Study in Pink, part four

_Previously: "Yeah, but if you were really, really clever.." his voice trailed away. "Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers; she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."_

_Just then, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."_

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

Adaline frowned at Mrs. Hudson's words. That was odd…no one had called for a taxi that she knew of. "I didn't order a taxi," Sherlock confirmed her thoughts. "Go away." Adaline glared at her father for his tone of voice. The woman was merely trying to help.

"Oh dear. They're making such a terrible mess," the landlady fretted. "What are they looking for?" "It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," John supplied patiently. Adaline was a bit surprised when a very worried look came over the older woman's face. "But they're just for my hip!" she cried, gesturing to the mentioned body part. "They're herbal soothers!"

The blonde haired child's face now adopted a puzzled look, wondering why Mrs. Hudson would be so concerned about her medicine. She looked over at John in question, but the doctor was pointedly looking away from her.

"Shut up!" her father yelled suddenly. "Everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, I need you, especially, to face the other way. You're putting me off." "What?" Anderson cried, obviously affronted. "My _face_ is?!"

Adaline could not for the life of her stop the giggles that erupted when she glanced at Anderson's face, and in all honesty, she wouldn't have stopped them even if she'd had the ability to. She did have the decency to cover her mouth though, not that it did much good.

Anderson heard the freak's daughter start to laugh and scowled. She was laughing at him. Embarrassment filled the man and he threw the girl a very dark look.

Adaline had a feeling that if looks could kill, she would either not be breathing any longer, or would've at least found herself extremely maimed judging by the level of scowl she was receiving from the officer at the moment. It was quite obvious just how much the man despised her. Her glee at Anderson's plight only grew when John, having looked over in time to catch the exchange between the two, casually stepped into Anderson's line of vision, ceasing his ability to glare at the Holmes girl any longer. John lifted an eyebrow, silently warning him. Anderson seemed to understand what _wasn't_ being said, wisely looking away.

"Anderson!" the officer jumped when his boss addressed him in a gruff voice. "Turn your back," the Inspector ordered. Anderson opened his mouth to protest, but Lestrade, having had enough, snapped. "Your back! Now, please!" "Oh for God's sake!" he cried, but did as his boss instructed.

"Come on," Sherlock murmured to himself. "Think, quickly!" "What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson said worriedly. "MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted, entirely fed up with the interruptions, making Adaline and the older woman both jump. Mrs. Hudson gasped and hurried downstairs.

Sherlock had been furiously pacing back and forth when suddenly he stopped, whipping around to stare at his daughter in excitement. He ignored the glare she was throwing him for his treatment towards their land lady, telling himself he would apologize to the woman later.

"Oh," he began, eyes lighting up. "She was clever, clever, Adaline. Yes!" He turned and faced the entire room. "She's much cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't _lose_ her phone. She never lost it. She _planted_ it on him." He began to pace yet again. "When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" Lestrade threw in. "What…?" Sherlock asked him, truly stumped at Lestrade's ignorance. "What do you mean, how?"

Lestrade hesitated for a second and then shrugged helplessly. "Rachel!" Sherlock provided, looking around the room triumphantly. He visibly deflated when he was only met with blank stares. "Don't you see? Rachel!" he repeated, as if that would help them suddenly understand everything.

Nothing.

"Oh, look at you lot," he sneered, utterly disgusted at the lack of intelligence before him. "You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing."

"Dad."

Sherlock heard his daughter call to him, her voice low and soothing. Calm.

The father immediately stopped and forced himself to take a deep breath inward. John took note of the fact that when Sherlock next spoke, the venom in his voice was no longer present. The doctor looked over at the little girl, intrigued at the power she apparently had over the headstrong man.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. Email address."

The shorter man didn't bother asking questions and walked over to the luggage, locating the label and reading out the address. "It's uh…jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk." Adaline watched her father stride over and sit down in front of the computer screen. "Rachel is not a name," he said simply, typing in the website. "I've been too slow," he scolded himself. "She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smart phone. It's email enabled."

John watched as Sherlock pulled up the Mephone's website. "So there was a website for her account," the detective continued. "The username is her email address…" Adaline thought hard, mentally sifting through all of the information they had gathered, and adding up the clues. Rachel isn't a name….

Finally, it clicked.

"Rachel is her password," she gasped out. Now that she had figured it out, she was able to view the entirety of the case, and felt foolish upon realizing how obvious it all was. She was disappointed at her slowness.

Her father however, held completely different feelings towards his daughter. "Oh how the mighty have fallen." Lestrade looked to him questioningly. "What kind of day must it be for you all when a child is able to grasp clues before the majority of the Scotland Yard?"

"So what?" A voice dared to say. Anderson. Of course. Adaline rolled her eyes. "We can read her emails." "Anderson please cease talking. You wound the IQ of the entire street." Sherlock didn't waste time even looking at the tiny minded officer. "We can do much more than read her emails. It's a smart phone. It's got GPS which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

Mrs. Hudson hesitantly peeked her upper half back in through the doorway. "Sherlock dear. This taxi driver…" Sherlock got up from the computer chair and walked over to the woman. "Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" Mrs. Hudson puffed angrily and left, heading back to her own flat.

Adaline stared after her worriedly, hoping very much that she wasn't too upset at her father's obstinate rudeness. She threw a sharp glare in his direction and got up from her armchair, heading for the doorway. "I'll see what he wants," she informed them. Her father glanced over and nodded at her absently.

The young girl threw on her trainers and headed downstairs. She absently chewed at her lip, her mind whirling. Adaline opened the door, sending a gust of cool London air into the warm flat, and peered outside. The curly haired girl confirmed that there was indeed a taxi sitting in front of the flat for them. An older man was leaning against the vehicle waiting patiently. He was wearing glasses, his hair was grey and he was sporting a driver's cap.

"Hello," Adaline greeted politely. Her mind began shooting out warning signals. Something about this situation didn't feel quite right..

"Hello," he welcomed back just as nicely, nodding to her. She cautiously stepped outside, closing the front door quietly behind her. "I think there's been a mistake," she informed the man, secretly studying him. She gathered information about him very quickly, beginning her deductions just as her father had taught her.

_-Shaving cream left forgotten behind left ear. Most likely lives alone._

"We didn't call for a taxi," she conveyed sweetly.

_-Clothes are clean but have several holes throughout the fabric; at least three years old. Not planning for the future_

"Oh no," he agreed, shaking his head. "You didn't Miss Holmes." He smiled at her then. "But I believe your father did."

Alarmed, Adaline took a half step back before catching herself. She mentally shook herself and thought about what her father would do. She stepped closer to the man. "Who are you?" she asked, cutting straight to the chase. It was obvious the man had information they did not. The man smiled wider at the little girl's spunk, properly amused by the child.

"I'm just a taxi driver little miss," he said to her innocently. "No one important." "How do you know my dad?" she demanded. "You shouldn't worry about that," he tutted to her. He gestured to the cab. "How bout you get in the cab, and me, you, and your dad can take a nice little cab drive." "I think I might pass," Adaline said slowly, her mind practically screaming alarms at her now.

She began backing up towards the steps, her heart beating wildly. "Now calm down little miss," the cabbie soothed, taking a step in her direction. "I don't wanna hurt you and your dad. I'm just gonna talk to you." The man took another step towards her, and Adaline couldn't help herself.

She turned around quick as she could, shooting for the flat. Right before she made it to the door, she was grabbed from behind. The girl made to scream and the man threw a hand over her mouth. Adaline kicked and struggled against his arms to no avail. He slowly moved the two of them closer to his vehicle and Adaline, growing more desperate, bit the man's hand as hard as she could.

"Ah!" he gasped, his grip on her body lessening just a tiny bit. Adaline jumped on the opportunity and pushed the man away from her as hard as she could, running up the three steps that would bring her to safety. She made it to the top stop, her fingertips touching the door handle, when she was suddenly jerked off of her feet. She fell the ground face first, gasping as her forehead connected with the hard ground. The seven year old whimpered at the pain now flooding through her, tears coming to her eyes.

The man took advantage of her stillness and quite literally, began dragging her closer to him, causing her to scrape her hands and holes to form in the knees of her pajama bottoms as she weakly attempted to fight back. Her pitiful tugs were ignored though as the man finally was able to open the cab door, tossing the child roughly inside the backseat.

Adaline scampered as far away from the man as she could, cowering into the left corner of the backseat. Every ounce of the courage she felt earlier was gone, drained dry by the abuse she was receiving. The man panted and shook his hand, and she noticed with a bit of satisfaction that it was bleeding from where she'd bitten into it. "Sorry about your head, love," he apologized with false sympathy. "Would've been a bit gentler if you'd cooperated." Adaline bit her tongue and hugged herself tightly, wishing very much her father was with her.

The man smiled at her creepily one final time, and slammed the door.

Meanwhile, back inside the flat, Sherlock was staring disbelievingly at the computer screen. "How can the phone be _here_?" he inquired, voice rising. " _How_?"

"Maybe it was in the case and when you brought it back it fell out somehow," Lestrade offered. Sherlock scoffed. "What, and I didn't notice? _Me_? I didn't notice?" "Anyway," John turned to Lestrade. "We texted him and he called back." Lestrade began talking to his crew and Sherlock easily tuned them out, his mind going back to the conversation he'd had with John earlier.

Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of the crowd?

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone dinged from inside of his coat. Sherlock removed his phone from his pocket, reading the text.

COME WITH ME.

Feeling eyes on him, Sherlock looked to his left towards the door way of the flat, only to see a strange man slowly making his way down the stairs to the front door.

"Sherlock, you okay?" he heard John ask. Absently he answered. "What? Yeah, yeah, I..I'm fine." "So how can the phone be here?"

"Dunno," Sherlock quietly answered, still watching the taxi driver. John walked over to his coat where his own phone was sitting inside his jacket pocket. "I'll try it again," he told the dark haired man.

"Good idea." Sherlock made his way to the door. "Where are you going?" John called to him, puzzled as to why he was leaving at such a crucial time. "Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long."

"You sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock ended, and hurried down the stairs after the man.

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry. I feel like this chapter was rushed and not up to par with my other chapters. I promise I put just as much attention into this one as I did the others. I hope I'm not making Adaline seem too grown. As I said, she is more mature than other 7 year olds. I would say that her maturity level is at least up to a teenagers. Saying that, she's gonna handle situations a lot differently than a normal 7 year old would. I just hope I'm portraying her well enough.
> 
> As always, the next chapter will be up very soon. I can try setting certain dates to upload the next chapters, but I don't think it would work, mainly because I'm just as excited to get the chapters out as you guys are to read them. Like, some authors choose to just post a chapter on a Saturday. I should try that so I can pace myself...buuut I don't think it's gonna work. Anyway, we'll see what happens.
> 
> Because I'm a mean person, I'm gonna pump you guys up for the next chapter before I go.
> 
> All I'm gonna say, is Sherlock ain't gonna be too happy to see his daughter in the back seat of this guy's car, bruised up and bleeding. Angry, protective father Sherlock will be bursting his way through in the next chapter. I'm excited myself to see what happens.
> 
> Please review if you can! As always, thank you guys so so much for your support of this story. Till next time!


	6. A Study in Pink, part five

_Previously- "Good idea." Sherlock made his way to the door. "Where are you going?" John called to him, puzzled as to why he was leaving at such a crucial time. "Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long."_

_"_ _You sure you're alright?"_

_"_ _I'm fine," Sherlock ended, and hurried down the stairs._

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

Sherlock came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the staircase. The front door was wide open and he studied the man standing next to the taxi from inside of the flat. He slowly made his way outside, making sure to grab his coat beforehand. He shrugged his arms into his jacket, and shut the front door behind him with a soft _click._

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes," the older man spoke. Sherlock quickly glanced down at the man's name tag which was embroidered on to his cardigan.

"Jeff is it?" the detective asked casually. "I didn't order a taxi." "Doesn't mean you don't need one."

"You're the cabbie," Sherlock stated confidently. "The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was _you_ , not your passenger." Jeff shook his head and tutted. "See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like your invisible. Just the back of an 'ead." The man adapted a sinister smile as he spoke. "Proper advantage for a serial killer."

Sherlock took a few steps towards the driver. "Is this a confession?" He glanced up towards the window of the flat. "Oh yeah," Jeff nodded. "An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise." Jeff continued smiling and Sherlock scoffed.

"Why?"

"Cause you're not gonna do that."

"Am I not?" Sherlock questioned, lips forming into an interested smirk.

"No," Jeff confirmed. "I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em, and they killed _themselves._ An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing…" Jeff leaned close to Sherlock, making sure to make eye contact with the curly haired man. His voice dropped to a whisper. "…I will never tell you what I told them."

The man didn't break eye contact after he spoke his last statement, and Sherlock made no move to interrupt it. Sherlock merely stared at the man, gathering more clues by the minute. Finally, Jeff straightened and began walking around to the front of the cab.

"No one else will die though," Sherlock said slowly, watching the man's movements. "And I believe they call that a result." The cabbie stopped then and turned towards Sherlock.

"You won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

Just then, a dull _thump_ was heard from inside the cab. "Dad?" a muffled voice cried out, and Sherlock's head snapped towards the voice's direction. Jeff took a step towards Sherlock and chuckled darkly. He sang out, "Did I forget to tell you about your daughter? My mistake. I'm absent minded sometimes ya see."

Sherlock continued staring at the cab, his face now conveying the fear he was feeling at hearing his daughter's voice. Another thump occurred and Sherlock's face slowly morphed from anxiousness into anger. He turned to stare at the stupid man that had dared to take his child from him. "My daughter," he seethed, eyes dark, "has nothing to do with this."

"But Mr. 'olmes," the cabbie started, voice innocent. "Haven't you ever heard of leverage?"

Adaline heard her father speaking from inside of the cab. Granted, it was a bit muffled, but she knew her father's baritone voice better than anyone. "Daddy?" she called out again, hoping that he could hear her. She wanted out of this stupid taxi. She wanted to go home and cuddle with her dad and her stuffed cat. She banged her hands against the window in frustration and yelped when a sharp pain shot through her at the action. Her eyes teared up from sadness and pain, and she squeezed herself tighter into the corner of the car.

Sherlock heard his daughter call out for him again, his heart clenching at the fear in her voice. He heard a sharp yelp of…pain? Was she hurt?! Sherlock swung back around to look at Jeff. "If you harmed my child in any way.." he threatened, and the man unconcernedly waved him off.

"No, no, the little dear's fine, just fine. We had a little…disagreement about things, but we figured everything out pretty quickly." He smiled wider, yellow teeth showcasing themselves against cracked lips. Dark fury surged through Sherlock at the man's words, and he took an involuntary step forward.

"I should just kill you right here and now," Sherlock spoke, his voice coming out as a growl, and for a split second, the older man's face showed panic before it smoothed out again, and a non-caring smirk was plastered on to his face. "You could," he shrugged defiantly. "But you won't."

"For a dead man walking you're awfully confident," Sherlock commented. "You seem to truly believe you know me." "I know men like you," Jeff answered seriously. "You won't kill me."

Sherlock stopped moving towards the cabbie and looked back at the car. "What would you have me do?" he asked lowly. "Let me take you for a ride," the man offered, relaxing slightly now that Sherlock had calmed down a bit. "So you can kill my daughter and I?" Sherlock snorted in disbelief.

"It's like I told the kid. I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I just wanna talk to ya. You're gonna kill yerself." Without another word, Jeff turned his back on the detective and headed to the driver's side of the car. He opened the door and placed himself behind the wheel.

Sherlock hesitated for half of a second before hurriedly making his way to the car and opening the door, climbing in beside his daughter. "Daddy?" he heard a small voice say as he shut the door. He turned to face the voice, and his breath caught in his chest.

The seven year old had curled her small body in to herself as tightly as she could. Her legs were up to her chest, her feet on the seat as she hugged herself into the corner of the backseat. Her eyes were puffy and red from where she'd been crying, and there were left over droplets on her pale cheeks. He saw a giant bruise on her forehead, and it was bleeding slightly. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. He scooted himself closer to her to examine her forehead, feeling a small amount of relief when he saw that it was only scraped.

He noted how gingerly she was holding her hands and he very gently took them into his larger ones, shushing her quietly when she hissed and whimpered. They were scraped raw and seeping blood in a few places. The detective instantly knew what had happened to cause the injuries, eyes glancing down towards the little girl's equally damaged knees and the holes that were torn into her pajama bottoms. His mind flashed back to the man's bleeding hand, and another growl built up inside his chest. He resisted the urge to make the noise however, knowing that it would only increase his daughter's fear. Instead, he pulled the child close to him, tucking her under his arm. He began running his hands through her curls, hoping that the familiar action would soothe her somewhat.

Adaline curled in to her father's body as much as she was able to. She soaked up his warmth, pressing her face against his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. She took a deep breath, trying to breathe the fear away. The little girl felt her father's large hands running through her hair, gently combing through any tangles that had formed, and she felt herself begin to relax. Her dad was here which meant everything was gonna be okay now. She was safe.

"Is dragging little girls into your car a normal part of your murder routine, or is this a special incident?" Sherlock sneered. The man's eyes glanced at the father and daughter from his rear view mirror, studying them for a second, and then looking back towards the road. Sherlock thought he saw a hint of guilt flash through for a second, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.

"I was warned about you," the older man began, choosing to ignore the detective's last question. "I recognized you, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I've been on yer website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

"Who warned you about me?" Sherlock asked simply, getting annoyed with the man's yammering.

"Oh," Jeff started, "just someone out there who's noticed you." "Who?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward a bit in his seat. His green eyes located a photo of a young boy and girl that was attached to the dash of the car. He leaned back in his seat again, but not before looking closely at the side of Jeff's neck. "Who would notice me?" he asked again, sitting all the way back once more.

Adaline studied her dad's face from underneath his arm. It was showing a slight amount of satisfaction. Barely noticeable if you didn't know him well enough. He was connecting clues.

Jeff's eyes once again looked into the rear view mirror, brown eyes meeting green. "You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes." "I'm really not," Sherlock replied drily, and Adaline smiled a bit. Sherlock noticed the brief change of emotion come over her face and shot her a quick grin. "You've got yourself a fan," the cabbie continued.

"Tell me more," Sherlock requested nonchalantly. Jeff chuckled to himself then. "That's all you're gonna know," he paused dramatically. "…in this lifetime."

Back at the flat, Lestrade and his crew were preparing to leave the flat. "John?" Mrs. Hudson questioned, poking her head in the door. "Where did Adaline get to?" John looked around the flat, just now realizing that the small girl hadn't been seen in a little while. "I don't know, Mrs. Hudson," he answered, eyebrows creased. "I think she said she was going to see to the cab. Maybe she went back to her room." Mrs. Hudson shrugged, accepting this answer, and went back to her own living space.

"Why did he do that?" Lestrade asked John suddenly, and the army doctor turned towards the Inspector. "Sorry?" John questioned. "Why did he have to leave?" Lestrade clarified as he slid into his coat.

"You know Sherlock better than I do," John shrugged. "I've known him for five years, and no, I don't," Lestrade countered.

"So why do you put up with him?" John questioned, crossing his arms against his chest. Lestrade sighed. "Because I'm desperate, that's why." The Inspector walked towards the door, but before he reached it, he stopped and looked back towards the doctor. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." John stared as the man turned and walked out the door, his mind going over Lestrade's words.

Some distance away a cab was coming to a stop in front of two identical buildings which were sitting side by side. Jeff turned off the vehicle engine, getting out of the car. He walked to Sherlock's door and opened it. "Where are we?" Sherlock inquired, making no move to get out of the vehicle. He continued to hold Adaline who was trying to catch a glimpse of where they were without bringing attention to herself. "Don't play dumb, Mr. 'olmes," Jeff scolded. "You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are."

"Roland-Kerr Further Education college," Sherlock stated. "Why here?"

"It's open," a tiny voice answered, and both men looked down. Sherlock frowned at his daughter disapprovingly and tried in vain to tuck her farther into him. "Very good little miss!" the man praised, and Adaline grimaced. She regretted speaking up now. "One thing about bein a cabbie," the man explained, unaware of Adaline's plight, "you always know a nice, quiet spot for a murder. I'm honestly surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in?" Sherlock asked incredulously, eyebrows raised towards the man. "How?"

In answer, Jeff reached into his back pocket, pulling out a shiny black gun. Adaline's eyes grew wide when the man pointed the gun at her father's face, and she whimpered. "Dad.." she whispered, frightened for him. Sherlock hugged her tightly, but made no move to intercept the man. Instead of tensing up at the sight of the weapon, Sherlock's body remained quite relaxed. He was almost..bored? Her father rolled his eyes at the gunman, and Adaline held her breath.

"Oh, dull," Sherlock sighed, turning his head away. "Don't worry," Jeff assured him. "It gets better." "You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

Jeff grinned. "I don't. It's much better than that." He lowered the gun and Adaline relaxed, taking a small breath of relief. "Don't need this with you, cause you'll follow me."

Back at 221B, John was alone in the flat, preparing to go home. He walked towards the door and stopped suddenly, clenching his fists. The man realized that he hadn't grabbed his walking cane and looked around the room before spotting it sitting on a stack of papers next to the dining room table. He limped over to collect it, grumbling to himself.

John clasped the cane tightly in his hand and began to make his way back to the door. Suddenly, behind him, the computer began beeping repeatedly. John turned back to the device and walked to the table, propping his cane up against it. The doctor picked up the computer, looking closely at the screen, which has pinpointed the location of Jennifer Wilson's phone. John felt a surge of energy rush through him and he quickly turned towards the door, taking the computer with him as he hurried down the stairs, once again forgetting to grab his cane.

Back at Roland-Kerr College, Sherlock was grimacing exasperatedly to himself. He watched the cabbie walk towards the building for a moment before looking down at his daughter.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tipping her head up towards him. He studied her face closely and Adaline felt the confidence that she'd been trying to build up during the car ride waver. "I want to go home," she said simply. Sherlock nodded and kissed her forehead, making sure not to touch her bruise. "I know," he nodded. "And we will. This won't take much longer."

The two of them climbed out of the car and began to follow the man inside the building. "Dad," the little girl called suddenly, and Sherlock looked back towards her curiously. "What about his gun?" she asked him worriedly. He stopped then and turned towards her fully, leaning down close to her ear. "It's not real," he whispered. He leaned back up and winked at her, causing a happy smile to spread across her face in relief. Sherlock grabbed his daughter's hand tightly within his own, walking the two of them into the building.

Father and daughter followed Jeff through the corridors of the college building. He stopped in front of one of the classrooms, opening the door and gesturing for Sherlock and Adaline to head in. Sherlock studied the man closely, but dutifully walked inside the room, making sure to place his daughter on the other side of him as they passed Jeff. The cabbie released the door, causing it to swing closed, and a _bang_ echoed throughout the room, causing Adaline to jump in surprise.

Sherlock hugged her to him. "It's alright," he whispered. "Be brave, Adaline." Adaline took a deep breath and visibly straightened, stepping away from her father a bit but making sure to retain possession of his hand. Jeff turned on the lights and Sherlock looked around the classroom, taking note of the long wooden tables and plastic chairs. "Shall we talk?" Jeff asked politely, gesturing to one of the tables.

Sherlock and Adaline walked over to the tables as requested. Instead of plopping down in one of the chairs like Adaline did, Sherlock took a seat and flipped it around, only then sitting down. He sighed dramatically and began taking off his gloves, stuffing them into one of his coat pockets.

"Bit risky, wasn't it?" her father began. "Taking me away under the eye of about half a dozen police men. They're not _that_ stupid, as hard as that is for me to admit. And Mrs. Hudson will of course remember you."

"You call that a risk?" Jeff scoffed, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small bottle. " _This_ …is a risk." The bottle held a single large capsule of..something, and Adaline frowned, puzzled. Sherlock was also studying the glass bottle, but his face remained neutral.

"Ooh, I like this bit," Jeff stated, and Adaline looked up at the man, alarm going through her when she noticed that he was smiling gleefully. He continued, "'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this."

And with that, Jeff reached into his other pocket, pulling out an identical glass bottle, which also contained a single large capsule inside. He put the two side by side. "You weren't expecting that, were you?" he gloated, looking excitedly at Sherlock. The older man leaned forward. "Ooh, you're gonna love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock asked, his voice snapping. Jeff now leaned back in his chair lazily. "Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'ere in the flesh." He paused now. "And his daughter of course," he gestured with his chin toward Adaline. "That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"My _fan_?" Sherlock repeated, voice tight.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius," the man gushed. " 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between us three sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" Jeff looked down at his lap and sighed angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just _think_?"

Jeff looked back up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looked back at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought. He made a realization and they widened. The detective spoke to the cabbie then. "Oh _I_ see," he began, voice dripping in sarcasm. "You're a proper genius, too."

"Don't look it, do I?" Jeff scoffed. "Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you _ever_ know." Sherlock held the man's gaze for a second or two, green eyes dropping back down to study the two bottles.

"Okay, two bottles. Explain."

"It's simple," Jeff shrugged. "There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle.." Adaline sucked in a breath and Jeff looked at her, eyes glinting. "I think little miss here gets the gist of it." Sherlock glanced over at his daughter for a second before quickly shifting back towards Jeff. "Both bottles are of course identical," Sherlock spoke, partly to himself.

"In every way," the cabbie confirmed. "And you of course know which is which." "Course _I_ know," the man said, rolling his eyes.

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

Jeff leaned forward, and his face grew darker, more sinister. "I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock's face lit up in excitement, and he started to grin. _Now_ he was interested.

"I'm sure you've also realized, Mr. 'olmes, that upon choosing the wrong bottle, you die, therefore leaving your daughter fatherless." Sherlock's smile dropped abruptly and he looked to his daughter, who was staring at the ground.

Adaline was absolutely terrified. Her father was actually going to play along with this man and his _game_? What about her? What if he lost? Did he not even care how his actions could affect her? Sherlock continued studying Adaline. He wanted her to look up at him so he could reassure her secretly, but she continued staring at the floor. He bit his lip and looked back towards the driver. "I won't lose," the detective said confidently. "If you don't cheat, that is."

The cabbie scoffed and almost looked offended at the dark haired man's words. "I don't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the bottles, beginning to properly concentrate now. "This is what you did to others," he commented absently. "You gave them a choice."

"And now I'm givin _you_ one." Sherlock looked up at the older man who licked his lips in anticipation. "Take your time," he instructed. "Get yourself together. I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's _chance_." "I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."

Jeff slid the left handed bottle across the table to Sherlock. He licked his top lip and pulled his hand back towards him. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

Meanwhile, Dr. Watson was sitting in the back of a taxi, talking animatedly to Lestrade over the phone. "No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" He leaned forward then, studying the outside scenery. "Er, left here, please," he instructed the driver. "Left here."

"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes?" Jeff asked, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Ready to play?"

"Play _what_? It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playin' the numbers," the man announced, "you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?" "Still just chance," Sherlock repeated, shrugging.

"Four people in a row?" the man rolled his eyes. "It's not just chance." Adaline shook her head at the events happening in front of her. This was insane. She couldn't believe her father was going along with this.

"Luck," Sherlock stated stubbornly. "It's genius," Jeff persisted. "I know 'ow people think." Sherlock rolled his eyes but the man continued. "I can see it all. It's like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "Even you," Jeff taunted, and Sherlock's gaze sharpened. "Or maybe God just loves me."

"Doubt it," Adaline whispered under her breath. She heard her father snort and despite the situation, had to fight off the urge to smile. Sherlock straightened up and leaned forward towards the man. "Either way," he started, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. "You're absolutely wasted as a cabbie."

The detective gazed at the man in front of him intently. "Why would you risk your life just to kill four strangers?" Jeff ignored his question and gestured down to the bottles. "Time to play." Sherlock folded his hands under his chin in his favorite prayer position. "Oh I am playing. This is _my_ turn." He stopped then and looked down to his daughter who was staring at him questioningly. "Adaline?" he gestured simply, and she gulped, then nodded determinedly.

"You have shaving cream behind your left ear," she started, voice quiet but strong. "Nobody has pointed it out to you, which usually means that you live alone since there's no one to tell you about it." Jeff tried not to fidget under the child's gaze. She continued. "Your clothes are clean but they're old. Maybe about three years? That means that you care enough to keep up appearances but you aren't planning ahead for life."

"What's the point in all this?" the older man stuttered, trying to remain confident. Sherlock's spoke then, taking over for his daughter. "I noticed in the cab that there was a picture of a pair of children on the car's dash. The children's mother had been cut out, indicating that she's still alive. If she was dead, she wouldn't be cut out. The photograph is old but the frame is new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them."

Jeff's brown eyes slid away from Sherlock, and Adaline's eyes widened when the man's eyes showed pain. "Estranged father then. Your wife took the kids, but you still love them, and it _still_ hurts." Sherlock paused then. "Adaline was spot on with your clothing. You're not taking proper care of yourself. And here you are on a kamikaze murdering spree. What's _that_ about?"

At this point, Jeff had gained control of himself again. He gazed back at Sherlock with a neutral expression on his face. Sherlock studied the man for a few moments before his eyes widened. "Of course," he breathed out. "Three years ago—is that when they told you?" "Told me what?" Jeff snapped.

"You truly are a dead man walking," Sherlock said softly. Adaline snapped her eyes up to the cabbie. He suddenly didn't look quite so deranged anymore to the small girl, instead adopting almost a frail look. Adaline suddenly felt sorry for the man. "Aneurism," Jeff confirmed, tapping the side of his head. "Right in 'ere. Any breath could be my last."

"So because you're dying," Adaline spoke, not feeling nearly as afraid of the man as she did before, "you murdered four people?" Jeff frowned at the child. "I've _outlived_ four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave with an aneurism."

Sherlock adopted a thoughtful look now. "No, no, that's not all." Jeff looked at him curiously.

"You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."

Jeff sighed and looked away. "You are good, aren't you?"

"But _how_?"

"When I die," the man explained, "they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs." "Or serial killing," Sherlock said drily.

"You'd be surprised."

Sherlock leaned forward then. "Surprise me."

"I 'ave a sponsor," Jeff told the curly haired man. "You have a _what_?" "For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Someone is willing to sponsor a serial killer?" Adaline asked, voice disbelieving. "Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" Jeff countered. Sherlock and Jeff silently stared at each other for a moment. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there like you, except you're just a man…and they're so much more than that."

Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste at the man's words. "What do you mean more than a man? An organization? What?" "There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either." Jeff gestured down to the bottles on the table. "Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."

Jeff sighed, taking the gun out again. "You can take the fifty-fifty chance," he started, and suddenly, moved the gun to point towards Adaline, "or I'll shoot your pretty little girl here in the head." Sherlock's eyes hardened and darkened towards the man. He knew the gun was fake, but the very idea of what he was suggesting was enough to piss Sherlock off.

Sherlock reached out, grabbing the gun and pointing it towards him. "I'd rather you not point that at my daughter thank you," he said dangerously. "I'll take the gun."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"You don't want to phone a friend?"

"Dad…" Adaline objected, now beginning to feel unsure. Sherlock merely glanced at his daughter, quieting her with a look. "The. Gun."

Jeff's mouth tightened, and he slowly squeezed the trigger. Not being able to watch, Adaline closed her eyes tightly, turning her head away. She bit her lip, waiting to hear the loud bang and the sound of her father's body hitting the floor…

A small flame burst out at the end of the muzzle. Sherlock smiled smugly at Jeff. "I know a real gun when I see one." Calmly, Jeff lifted the gun and released the trigger. The flame went out. "None of the others did."

"Clearly," Sherlock remarked. "Well, this has been _very_ interesting," Sherlock declared, and reached down to take his daughter's hand in his own. "I look forward to the court case." Sherlock and Adaline stood up, Sherlock tugging his daughter towards the door. Jeff put the fake gun on the desk and turned to look at the pair. "Just before you go," he said, voice light. "Did you figure it out?"

Sherlock stopped right abruptly, right before he got to the door. Adaline grabbed the back of her father's jacket, gripping it tightly. "…which ones the good bottle?" Jeff continued. "Of course," Sherlock sniffed. "Child's play."

"Well," Jeff grinned, "which one, then?" Sherlock opened the door a little, but showed no signs of exiting the room. Adaline glanced back towards the man and out into the hallway of the building. She bit her lip and tried to tug her father towards the doorway. "Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could've beaten you?"

Sherlock's face hardened, and he looked towards his daughter. Adaline stared up at him with pleading, scared eyes, and he broke. Sherlock turned back to look at the man, sighing with regret. "I'm afraid I can't take that risk." Jeff's eyes widened, obviously surprised.

"The great Sherlock 'olmes? Turning down a game," he scoffed. "Perhaps you're not as great as I thought." Sherlock said nothing, only continued peering at the older man.

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I _know_ you do. A man like you…" Jeff looked at Adaline then. "You're not exactly father material are you? How could you be? Fathers have to be boring. Have to be responsible. Too _normal_ ," he sneered out the word. "You're Sherlock 'olmes. You're anything but normal."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed towards the man, and he took a step closer to him, releasing Adaline's hand in the process. "You're too clever to be normal." Jeff held up a bottle. "But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Adaline watched her father walk back over to the man and pick up one of the bottles. Her breath caught in her throat and she start fiddling with her fingers nervously.

Sherlock took out the capsule and held it up to the light as he examined it. "Still the addict," Jeff whispered. Slowly, Sherlock lowered the pill, holding it at eye level as he gazed at it. "You'd do anything..anything at all…"

Adaline watched as her father almost became hypnotized by the man's words. She slowly walked towards him, heart now beating wildly in her chest. "Dad…" she began slowly. "Don't listen to him." Sherlock heard his daughter's voice, but he couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Her voice almost sounded muffled. His hands began to tremble with excitement as he held the pill closer to his mouth. "….to stop being bored," Jeff finished.

Sherlock slowly began to move the pill closer to his mouth. "Dad, stop," Adaline cried, rushing over to her father. "What are you doing?!"

Jeff matched Sherlock's movement with his own, reaching up to put his own pill close to his mouth. "Innit good?" Each man's hand moved closer to their mouths, and Sherlock had almost touched the pill to his lips.

"Daddy, STOP!" Suddenly, Sherlock's back slammed painfully into the cold floor. His ears were ringing from a loud noise and he shook his head, dazed. What had happened? That noise…that sounded like a…

He gasped. "Adaline!" Sherlock shot up from the ground, looking around the room frantically. "Adaline where are you?" That was a gun…someone had shot a gun. Where was Adaline? What if she…

"Dad.." he heard a small voice say, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He was instantly on his feet, heading towards the voice.

Adaline was kneeling on the ground next to Jeff. A bullet had impacted his chest and he was steadily bleeding out on to the concrete floor. Sherlock hurried next to Adaline, gently pulling her away from the man. "Daddy?" she questioned, looking at him with wide eyes. "Go stand over there," he gestured towards the door. It was a testament to her shock that she did so without question.

Sherlock went and hurried to the window, studying the bullet hole in the glass. He looked at where the bullet had to have come from, but the window of the opposite room was open and there was no one in sight.

Sherlock heard Jeff let out a heavy breath, and cough wetly. He straightened up from his crouch near the window and walked over to the desk, snatching up one of the pills lying on it. The detective walked over to Jeff, brandishing the pill in front of him. A large pool of blood was growing underneath the dying man, staining the floor.

"Was I right?" Sherlock asked the man who was staring up at him in shock. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Jeff didn't reply. Sherlock hurled the pill across the room angrily. "Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me—my 'fan.' I want a name."

"No," Jeff refused weakly. "You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you," Sherlock countered. "A _name_." Jeff shook his head, and grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and placed it on Jeff's shoulder. Jeff gasped in pain. "A name," Sherlock threatened.

Jeff cried out, and Sherlock grit his teeth. " _Now._ " The detective's face was intent and almost manic looking; he leaned more of his weight onto Jeff's shoulder. Jeff cried out in pain again. "The NAME!"

"Daddy stop!" he heard right before a small body slammed into his. He looked down towards his daughter who was staring up at him fearfully. "Daddy you're hurting him," she whimpered, looking at the dying man. "Adaline not now," he said ferociously, pushing the little girl towards the door again. The man was quickly fading away. He was losing time! Sherlock stomped one last time on Jeff's shoulder. "SAY IT!"

"MORIARTY!" The man gasped one last time in agony before his eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. Adaline gasped and Sherlock looked towards her, watching as she slowly walked away from him, shaking her head. "Adaline…" he started. "No!" she shouted, and ran out of the room.

Adaline ran and ran till she finally made it outside. She wasn't watching where she was going, and the tears pouring out of her eyes were blinding her as well. Suddenly, she ran into something hard, her small body slamming into the ground. She whimpered painfully at the sharp sting her poor hands gave off. "Adaline?" she heard a hesitant voice say. She looked up and gasped. "Mr. John!" she shouted, jumping up and almost tackling the unsuspecting man.

John gasped when the small girl rammed herself into him, her arms squeezing around him as tightly as she was able. He was shocked! What was she doing here? He quickly got a hold on himself and hugged her back, his own arms wrapping around her securely. "There there," he soothed, rubbing her back. "It's alright love."

He hugged her for a bit longer before gently grasping her shoulders, pulling her away from him so he could get a good look at her. "Ada what happened?" he questioned, looking increasingly concerned as he studied her small body. "Why are you here?" The little girl looked rather rough. Her forehead had stopped bleeding, allowing the large bruise to stand out. Her kitten pajamas were torn and John saw that her hands and knees were scraped. She was wincing every now and then as well, and the doctor in him reacted towards the child's pain instantly.

The child opened and closed her mouth despairingly, not knowing how to answer the man. John noticed her struggling, and the urge to comfort her washed over him. "C'mon," he said, making a move to lift her up. "Let's fix you up."

"John," he heard a deep voice say, and looked up to see Sherlock walking towards him. The curly haired man was looking at his daughter, his face showing…regret? John was puzzled. He looked to Adaline and then back to Sherlock, eyebrow raised, but the man only shook his head.

Later on, Sherlock and Adaline sat in the back of an ambulance. A paramedic had come and placed an orange blanket over the both of him. Sherlock had scoffed and immediately tried to shrug his off while Adaline snuggled in to hers, quite content with the warmth. John himself had treated Adaline's injuries, putting Neosporin on her scrapes and checking over her bruise. "No sign of a concussion," he murmured as he studied her. "But you will be quite colorful for the next week or so," he finished, looking at the blonde headed girl apologetically. Adaline smiled at the kind doctor. "Thank you, Mr. John." John smiled back at the sweet child and wrapped the cover tighter around her tiny form. Sherlock watched the two of them, green eyes steady on his daughter.

Lestrade walked over to the three of them. "Why have I got this?" Sherlock asked the Inspector, making him roll his eyes. "They keep putting this blanket on me."

"Yes, it's for shock," Lestrade answered the man. He turned towards the little girl. "How are you Ada?" he questioned her concernedly. When he found out that she had been involved in the cabbie's final act, so to speak, he'd felt quite scared for her. He cared quite a lot for the little girl. "I'm fine, Uncle Greg," she answered quietly, smiling at him halfheartedly, and he frowned. Lestrade shrugged off his concern for the moment, telling himself she was just exhausted by the day's events.

Adaline stared off into the distance, her father and Uncle Greg's voice fading away. She couldn't stop thinking of what her dad had done to the cabbie earlier. Her father had hurt that man. Yes, he was a bad man, but did that matter? She had never seen her dad look like that. He was so kind to her. He never even raised his voice at her..only when she was being very stubborn, and even then….She shook her head firmly. No, she thought. That man wasn't her father. She didn't know who that was. Her daddy would never do something like that.

She soon became aware of the fact that someone was talking to her. "…Adaline," a voice said distantly. "Adaline!" Finally, she looked up and saw the man of her thoughts staring at her in concern. "Did you say something daddy?" she asked.

Sherlock's eyebrows creased. "It's time to go home," he said to her. "C'mon. Up you go." Sherlock helped his daughter hop down from the ambulance, grabbing her hand tightly within his own, and the two of them walked over to where John was waiting on the other side of the police tape.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills," the doctor started. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Sherlock merely stared at the man thoughtfully for a moment.

"Good shot," he told him quietly, and Adaline quickly looked up to Mr. John, mind whirling. Mr. John had shot the man? John looked startled, eyes widening at Sherlock, before he looked around at the scenery innocently. "Yes. Yes, must've been, through that window."

"Well, _you'd_ know."

"Need to get the powder burns off your fingers," Sherlock continued. "I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat and looked around nervously. "You all right?" Sherlock questioned him. "Yes, course I'm all right."

"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock replied bluntly. John looked quickly down at Adaline and back to Sherlock. "Yes, well.." he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

"He wasn't a nice man, though," Adaline put in suddenly, and Sherlock and John both looked down at her, surprised.

"No," Sherlock answered his daughter slowly. "No he wasn't, was he?"

"And frankly," John continued, "a bloody awful cabbie." "That's true," Sherlock nodded. "He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took to get us here!" John giggled and Sherlock smiled. "Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me." "Keep your voice down!" John whispered as they passed Sergeant Donovan. "Sorry—it's just um..nerves, I think."

John asked Sherlock if he was actually going to take the pill, and Adaline bit her lip. She knew the answer to that. "Course I wasn't," Sherlock answered, and Adaline's head shot up to her father in disbelief. Why was he lying to Mr. John? "Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't," John denied. "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove your clever." "Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot." Adaline giggled and Sherlock shot a playful glare towards her. "Yes well.." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Anyone up for dinner?"

"I'm starving."

"Can we go eat egg rolls dad?" Sherlock tightened his hand around his daughter's. "Of course! That does sound good. There's a Chinese restaurant that stays open till 2. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Adaline mouthed her father's last sentence to herself mockingly, and John, seeing the action, chuckled warmly at the child's antics. Adaline's face dropped to the ground, cheeks warming when she realized she'd been caught. She glanced up at John shyly and he winked at her, making a large smile stretch across her face.

Just then, a few yards ahead of the three, a black car pulled up, a tall man climbing out. John stopped and smacked Sherlock on the chest, pointing towards the man who was now walking towards them. "Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was telling you about."

Sherlock and Adaline looked forwards. "I know _exactly_ who that is." Adaline looked in the direction that John was pointing and gasped excitedly. "Uncle My!" she yelled, and ran towards the man, shocking John. Sherlock merely sighed though and walked up to the pair, stopping in front of them angrily.

Mycroft watched his small niece bound up to him and kneeled down, catching her in his arms. He lifted her up, frowning instantly when he saw her bruise. "What in the world happened to you poppet?" he questioned the girl. "I'm fine, Uncle My," she answered him confidently, arms wrapping around his neck gently. "Daddy took care of it."

"In fact I did," Sherlock's voice rang out, and Mycroft moved his head to look at his little brother. "Another case cracked then, Sherlock?" he began, peering at him. "How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" "What are you doing here?" Sherlock bit out.

"As always, I'm concerned about you and my only niece. And apparently, I have good reason to be," he finished, eyes becoming sharper as he glanced from Adaline back to Sherlock. Sherlock's own eyes darkened and he straightened, looking at his brother sternly. "Yes, I've heard about your _concern_."

"Always so aggressive," Mycroft tutted. Adaline shifted a bit and he gently placed her down beside her father. "Did it never occur to you Sherlock, that you and I belong on the same side?" Adaline rolled her eyes at the two men, very much used to this routine. "Oddly enough," Sherlock pondered sarcastically, "No!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

John had had enough at this point. "Okay hold on, hold on. Mummy? Who's mummy?" "This is Uncle My, Mr. John," Adaline answered the man, looking up at him with wide green eyes.

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock continued to taunt.

"Losing it in fact."

"He's your _brother_?" John cut in again, mind still struggling to comprehend. "Do keep up, John," Sherlock scolded condescendingly. "Of course he's my brother."

"So, he's not…" "Not what?" Both brothers looked at John, and the man shrugged embarrassingly. "I dunno—criminal mastermind?" Sherlock snorted and looked at Mycroft disparagingly. "Close enough." Mycroft scoffed. "For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"You _are_ the British government, Uncle My," Adaline answered, and Mycroft looked down to his niece. "Hardly, my dear." Sherlock sighed, clearly being finished with this conversation. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic. Come along, Adaline."

Adaline gave her uncle one last hug, kissing the man's cheek when he bent down to meet her. "Talk to you later, Uncle My." Mycroft smiled warmly at his niece and watched her hurry after her father.

John stayed behind to talk to Mycroft for a bit longer before running to catch up to Sherlock and Adaline. "So," he started, "dim sum?" "Mmm, I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock responded.

"No you can't!" John scoffed. "He can!" Adaline threw in. "Almost every time anyway.." she trailed off. "What are you so happy about anyway?" John asked the detective. Sherlock adapted a bright smile. "Moriarty," he said simply.

"What's Moriarty?" John asked, puzzled.

"I've absolutely no idea," the man answered back cheerfully, and began gently swinging his and his daughter's arms back and forth, listening to her giggle happily.

Back at the car, Mycroft watched as his brother and niece walked along with the army doctor, John Watson. "Sir, shall we go?" his assistant, Anthea asked him. "Interesting, that soldier fellow," Mycroft said quietly. Anthea looked briefly towards the three, eyes resting on the little girl now skipping next to her father. The woman turned her attention back to her Blackberry.

"He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active. Don't want to take any chances with my niece in the mist of things." Anthea looked up from her phone.

"Sorry sir, whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. I told you guys this was long! At least it was for me. I'm actually pretty worried about this chapter. I hope it came across okay. Tell me what you guys think of Mycroft. I didn't want to change his personality that much, but I did want him to come across as a caring uncle. I also changed cannon just a little bit with the pill scene. I hope you guys liked it. Please review. Thank you all so much for reading. Until next time!


	7. The Blind Banker, part one

_Previously: "He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active. Don't want to take any chances with my niece in the mist of things." Anthea looked up from her phone._

_"_ _Sorry sir, whose status?"_

_"_ _Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."_

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

Empty.

Empty.

Almost empty.

Might as well be empty.

"Everything is empty!" the 7 year old curly haired child groaned out. Adaline crossed her arms grumpily across her chest and looked around the small kitchen of the flat in frustration. She woke up that morning, tummy grumbling, and trotted her way into the kitchen in pursuit of breakfast. She soon became very distraught however upon discovering that there was absolutely nothing in the kitchen to snack on. Nothing!

Green eyes peered around the small space carefully, searching for something…anything that would take away the angry growls her stomach was sending off…..

There!

Adaline's face lit up when she spotted her favorite cereal sitting on top of the refrigerator; it was just begging to be eaten. Excitement filled her and she quickly walked over to the dining table and grabbed a stool. Dragging it over to the fridge, she carefully climbed her way to the top, tiny arms immediately reaching towards her prize. The little girl snagged the cereal box, a giant grin stretched across her face.

The smile quickly fell though and was replaced with a pitiful looking pout when she discovered that there was absolutely not one bit of cereal left within the box. Adaline turned the cereal box upside down, shaking it as though more cereal would magically appear. She sighed though when only a few remaining crumbs fell out and hit the floor beneath her.

"Bullocks…" she murmured, scowling.

"Adaline!" a voice barked out, and she gasped in surprise, hand loosening on the arm of the stool where she was holding herself up. The little girl swayed back and forth dangerously, trying in vain to regain her balance. She reached her hand out, but instead of grabbing the arm of the chair as she intended to do, she had already fallen too far and was only able to touch it with her fingertips. The child closed her eyes and braced herself for the crash against the floor when suddenly, strong arms surrounded her.

"Adaline what on _Earth_ are you doing?" John questioned, looking at the child he was holding with wide eyes. "Do you _want_ a concussion? The bruise on your forehead hasn't even faded away completely yet, and you're trying to give yourself another one?" Adaline looked down at the floor bashfully, cheeks flushed at John's reprimanding tone. "I was just looking for something to eat," she explained quietly, looking back up at the man with large, pouting eyes.

John's face softened and he sighed, gently placing the girl safely on the floor. "You could've asked someone taller to help you look." "I thought everyone was still asleep!"

"Adaline, I've told you countless times not to climb on top of chairs," a deep voice injected. Both John and Adaline turned around to see Sherlock coming into the living room, still in his night clothes.

"But dad…" She began, giving him a pleading look.

"Go and get dressed then," he waved her off. "Okay!" the child answered, bounding past John into her bedroom. John watched her go and turned to his roommate. "Where's she going?" he asked curiously. "The store, obviously," the detective answered in a bored voice. "But how did you…"

Sherlock just looked at him. John sighed. "Never mind; I'll go with her. I need to pick up some things anyway." "Oh good," Sherlock answered, plopping down onto the couch. "Pick up some tea as well."

"It wouldn't kill you to say please," John mumbled, placing the chair back at the table and going to his own room to get dressed for the day.

Half an hour later, army doctor and detective's daughter entered the supermarket. Adaline immediately grasped onto John's hand tightly, veering the both of them to the left side of the store. "Ice cream is this way, Mr. John!" John rolled his eyes, but smiled, allowing the small girl to lead him throughout the shop.

Meanwhile, back at the flat, while John and Adaline were finishing up their shopping for the day, Sherlock was in the middle of fighting off an invader. The man's face and head were almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves, and he was wielding a deadly curved sword. The attacker slashed at him and Sherlock narrowly avoided getting cut, dancing and ducking away from the man.

Back at the supermarket, John was having his own fierce battle. "Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again," the automated voice said again. John scoffed, and Adaline sheepishly looked back at the people in line behind them, giving them an apologetic smile.

The attacker had Sherlock backed up against the sofa; the detective had nowhere to run. The man took a swing at him, but right before it nicked Sherlock's face, the detective ducked under the sword, and dropped onto the couch into a sitting position. The man lifted the sword above his head with both hands. Sherlock kicks out his legs which connected roughly with the man's chest, shoving him backwards. As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock got to his feet and took an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.

John held a head of lettuce in a plastic bag, slowly moving it across the scanner, trying desperately to get it to register with the system.

"Mr. John, maybe I should try…" Adaline suggested hesitantly. Mr. John seemed pretty agitated right now, and she didn't really want to push him..but the line behind them was steadily getting longer. "No, thank you dear," he answered, biting his lip in concentration. "I think I've got it."

"Item not scanned. Please try again."

John groaned and straightened from his slightly crouched position. "D'ya think you could keep your voice down?!" he demanded of the machine, and Adaline looked at him with exasperation.

In the flat, the attacker had his sword held horizontally in both hands and was pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man's wrists, Sherlock fell back onto the kitchen table and the man followed him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into Sherlock's throat. Grimacing with the effort, Sherlock pushed the man's right wrist upwards to keep the blade from cutting him. The point of the sword began to dig into the table to Sherlock's right. Sherlock raised his left leg and kneed the man in the side several times and, as this began to weaken the man's grip. Sherlock forced himself upwards again, and the sword tip gouged a long slash across the top of the table.

John had finally managed to get all of his items scanned, with Adaline's help of course. He had grudgingly agreed to let the girl assist him. She tried not to smile too widely when she got everything scanned with the first swipe. John inserted his card into the chip and pin machine. "Card not authorized! Please use an alternative method of payment!"

"Yes! Alright, I've got it!" "Card not authorized! Please use an alternative method of payment!" John checked his back pocket, knowing he had no other forms of money. "Got nothing," he confirmed.

John pointed at the machine, grabbed Adaline's hand, and said, "Right. Keep it, keep that." The man behind them looked on in surprise. John began walking away angrily, leaving all of his groceries. Adaline turned back around and waved at the line of people that had built up behind them. "Bye!" she said cheerily, and several of them chuckled and waved back to the child, making the girl beam.

In the flat, Sherlock was on his feet again and the fight had moved back into the living room. The attacker took another swing at Sherlock who ducked underneath the sword and then quickly straightened up, pointing directly over the man's shoulder.

"Look!"

The man had already half turned in that direction with the swing of his sword and was also perhaps momentarily distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him. Sherlock took advantage and swung a powerful uppercut to the man's chin, and the man dropped unconscious into Sherlock's armchair. Sherlock straightened up and immediately checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looked down at the man with disdain, indignant. "You scuffed my clothes," he sniffed.

Sometime later , John and Adaline arrived back at the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, calmly reading one of the books he'd read a hundred times already. There was no sign of the attacker around the flat. John stopped as soon as he walked into the flat. He felt as though something had happened in his absence, but looking to Sherlock who was obviously making an effort _not_ to look at him, he merely sighed and shook his head, deciding to let the matter go.

"You took your time," the detective commented, not looking up from his book. "Yeah, I didn't get the groceries."

This made Sherlock look up. "What? Why?" Adaline giggled and Sherlock looked over at his daughter. "The shopping machines disagreed with him." The man raised an eyebrow at his daughter curiously and she giggled again. "I had a row in the shop..with a chip and pin machine."

Sherlock lowered his book now, looking at his roommate disbelievingly. "You…had a row with a _machine_?" "Sort of. It sat there, and I shouted abuse." Adaline lost it then, and began full out laughing, falling backward onto the couch and holding her stomach. John looked over at her and couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "Yes yes, Adaline. It was very funny." He looked over at Sherlock then. "Have you got any cash?"

Sherlock decided to actually be an adult for once. His child was already laughing at the poor man, and it just wouldn't be proper for both of them to laugh, so held back his own amused reaction, and nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card."

John walked towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table, but before he got there he turned back to his flat mate. "You could go yourself, ya know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since we've left."

"I wouldn't say that, Mr. John," Adaline began, and peered towards her father with a knowing look. "I'd say he's gotten a bit of exercise in this morning." The child glanced down towards the bottom of Sherlock's chair, and the man looked down himself, only to realize that the attacker's sword was basically in plain view. How John hadn't noticed it yet was beyond his imaginings. He quickly slammed a foot down onto the end of the sword and slid his foot and the weapon further back under the chair. He then threw his daughter a warning look, and she smiled, miming zipping her lips closed.

He raised an elegant eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes, pretending to lock up her lips and throw away the key. ( **A/N: I hope you guys can envision this action, and know what gesture I'm talking about.)** Sherlock nodded, content with her vow to secrecy.

"What about the case you were offered?" John continued, completely ignorant to what was going on behind him. "The Jaria diamond?"

"I sent them a message," Sherlock answered firmly, his mind flashing back to the uppercut he had thrown the man which ended the fight.

John finally found a card he could use. He made to head out the door, but paused when he noticed something was… _off_ with the table. He bent over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighed and ran his finger along the cut, rubbing at it.

John sighed exasperatedly. "Ugh, Holmes."

The army doctor looked across to his flatmate and he tuttted pointedly. Sherlock shook his head innocently. John turned and leaves the room, shouting a goodbye to Adaline, before trotting down the stairs. Sherlock looked over and smirked proudly at his daughter, who grinned back widely. "Soooo, can I touch it?"

"No."

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHSHSH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know..You really don't need to tell me. This is absolutely awful and pathetic and how dare I give you all such a short chapter when I've made you wait so late. BUT, do not fear! I'm almost done with another one and will have it up soon! I just wanted to give you all some hope. I'm not going to abandon this story. Just takes me a bit to get chapters out sometimes...


	8. The Blind Banker, part two

_Previously- The army doctor looked cross to his flat mate and tutted pointedly. Sherlock shook his head innocently. John turned and left the room, shouting a goodbye to Adaline before trotting down the stairs. Sherlock looked over and smiled proudly at his daughter who grinned back widely. "Sooo, can I touch it?"_

_"No."_

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

"Sherlock, my laptop is password protected! How in the world did you.." "Oh please, John," Sherlock interrupted, scoffing. "It was elementary. Dare I say, second grade level work." **(A/N: I have NO idea how the schools in the UK operate; not going to pretend that I do.)** He then turned to his daughter who was sitting in her father's chair, making a point to look away from John. She began "whistling" but failed terribly. John continued looking at her with one raised eyebrow, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Mr. John!" she cried. "I didn't want to do it! He bribed me!" Adaline pointed to her father, giving the man a fierce glare. "Traitor," he muttered, and she shrugged. Sherlock sighed. "Oh well, can't be helped. It wasn't exactly Fort Knox level of protection was it?"

John looked back and forth from father to daughter, utterly lost for words. "Right. Thank you both."

He walked over and slammed the computer's lid down. Sherlock managed to pull his fingers out of the way just in time. John took the laptop across the room and put it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sat down. Sherlock clasped his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he propped his elbows on the table, looking thoughtful. John picked up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowned.

"What's wrong, Mr. John?" Adaline questioned, noticing his change in expression. John glanced up towards the girl. "Hm? Oh nothing." He paused and Adaline continued looking at him, waiting patiently. "Just..need to get a job," he finished.

"That sounds horrible," Adaline commented. At the same time as his daughter, Sherlock stated, "Oh dull." John glanced at the two, looking back at his letters for a moment. He looked back up then, and Adaline noted that he almost seemed..uncomfortable when he spoke his next sentence. "Listen, um…if you'd be able to lend me some…"

As he spoke, he realized that Sherlock was in no way paying attention to his roommate's voice. "Sherlock? Are you even listening?"

"I need to go to the bank," the curly haired man stated suddenly, and Adaline watched as her father got up from his seat at the table and headed over to the door. He grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door, quickly shrugging it on. "Adaline," he beckoned, grabbing his daughter's coat, and the girl mindfully rose from her father's chair, sliding her arms into the coat when Sherlock held it open for her.

Sherlock opened the door and the two made a move to walk down the stairs, but not before Adaline turned around to look back at John. "Mr. John?" she questioned. "Aren't you coming?" Not needing any more encouragement, John got up from his spot in the armchair, grabbed his own coat, and accompanied his new flat mates to the bank.

The trio arrived at the bank; John couldn't help but gaze around at the impressive bank foyer. Adaline gasped excitedly when she saw the escalator; she ran ahead of John and her father, jumping on to the "ride." Meanwhile, Sherlock and John calmly approached the electronic stairs, Sherlock making a point to observe as many details he could about his surrounding environment.

Sherlock walked over to the front desk, stating his name to the receptionist who nodded and began to show them to a room. She stopped though when she spotted the adorable blonde, curly haired child standing close to her father's leg. "Oh my goodness!" she gasped, and John watched, amused, as the young woman walked up to the child and kneeled down to her level. Adaline smiled politely but was obviously uncomfortable with the attention being shown to her. John couldn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially when the woman began petting the small girl's head, running her fingers throughout her curls.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This happened almost every time they went out in public…

"Your hair is just precious! You are just the cutest little thing I've ever seen! Like a doll," the woman cooed. Suddenly, the receptionist's hand was coming towards her face and Adaline gasped, making a move to step away from the silly woman. She hated getting her cheeks pinched!

Before she could move though, Sherlock stepped in, finally deciding to take pity on his daughter. He hurriedly reached out and caught the woman's wrist in a gentle but firm grasp. "I'm sorry, we're kind of in a hurry," he told her, and the receptionist look at him with an affronted look. "Could you stop fawning over my daughter long enough to show us to a room?"

The woman, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, quickly snatched her hand away from the daunting man in front of her. She stood up from her position and readjusted her outfit before clearing her throat and gesturing the three of them forwards. "It's that way." "Thank you," Sherlock nodded politely and made his way towards the room, Adaline trailing behind him.

John looked at the obviously very flustered woman, feeling a bit sorry for her now. He threw her a kind smile which she half-heartedly returned, and then proceeded to walk towards the meeting room. When he walked in he saw a man in a business suit shaking hands with Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man greeted, Sherlock's hand clasped in between both of his own.

"Sebastian," Sherlock returned shortly.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looked at Sebastian with marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian glanced down for a second, and then did a double take, as though he had just noticed the tiny human standing next to Sherlock.

"Who's this then?" he said loudly, and for the second time that day, Adaline forced a very fake, polite smile onto her face. "This is my…" Sherlock started, but before he could finish Sebastian interrupted. "Don't tell me. She's your niece."

"…daughter." the detective concluded. Sebastian threw a surprised look at Sherlock. "Daughter?" he repeated, clear disbelief in his voice. "Who would've thought that Sherlock Holmes was capable of being a father?" Adaline looked up towards the men, and for a split second, she saw something flash over her father's face at Sebastian's words.

Concern filled her and she opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, the man's face was in front of her own. "What's your name love?" Her dislike for the business man only grew when she recognized the tone his voice had adapted upon addressing her. Adaline liked to refer to this voice as the "dummy voice." Well, she'd solve this problem right away.

"Is that a new watch?" she asked simply. "What?" he countered, looking taken aback. His breath blew into her face and she grimaced. "Your breath stinks," she said bluntly, and the man's eyes widened in surprise now. He quickly stood back up, taking a step away from the girl. Sherlock didn't even bother holding in his snort of amusement. John however, looked down at the girl disapprovingly, even though he too wanted to laugh. Adaline had never sounded more like her father than she did in that moment.

Sebastian turned to John, but not before sending a glare down at the small human who was now smiling at him innocently. "John Watson," John offered, take a step forward to shake the man's hand. "He's a friend," Sherlock provided. "Friend?" Sebastian repeated, one eyebrow rising up.

"Collea…" John started, and then made the mistake of glancing down at Adaline, who was peering up at him trustingly with her wide, green eyes. John made a split decision then. "Friend," John said firmly, looking back at Sebastian. "I'm a friend."

Both of Sebastian's eyebrows rose then, and he looked to Sherlock as if to say, _Is this a joke?_ John knew at that moment that he had made the right move switching his answers, for he very much disliked this man. Sherlock threw him a grateful look and Adaline beamed up at him, and he felt warmth build up in his chest.

"Well," Sebastian said, clearing his throat. "D'ya need anything? Coffee, water? Juice for the tiny tot?" "We're fine," Sherlock said, putting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. He knew that the man was trying to rile her up, and as funny as it would be for a child to put such a pompous idiot in his place, it would also be rude, and as a father he shouldn't encourage rudeness. Sebastian nodded, throwing himself into his chair and gestured that they all sit down as well. As there were only two seats, Adaline sat in her father's lap, playing with hand when he wrapped it around her stomach.

"So, you're doing well," Sherlock started casually. "You've been abroad a lot." "Well, some," Sebastian admitted. "Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" John frowned in confusion at Sherlock's words, and Sebastian laughed loudly and pointed at Sherlock.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He looked at John. "This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock said quietly, and Adaline glared fiercely at Sebastian. "We were at uni together. He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've seen him do it," John said, face blank.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." Sherlock turned his head away then and looked down. Adaline looked at her father worriedly. The ignorant man continued, "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

That was it. Adaline couldn't take it anymore. "Don't call my dad a freak!" she shouted, and Sebastian whipped his head towards her. "He's not a freak and it's not a trick! It's called a deduction you idi-" At that moment, Sherlock's hand closed around her mouth, ending her rant towards the now speechless man. "Calm down," Sherlock whispered to his daughter, tightening his arm around her waist. She looked up at him angrily but nodded, and Sherlock released her, adjusting her in his lap once more.

"I simply observed," Sherlock now addressed Sebastian. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm sure you called me here for more than just a chat." Sebastian looked at Adaline for a bit longer and then met eyes with the detective. "Like father like daughter…" he mumbled, and John fidgeted a bit, trying to fight off the urge to follow Adaline's lead and shut the man down.

"Yes," Sebastian confirmed. "I do have something interesting for you. We've had a break-in." He got up then and walked across the trading floor towards another door, the trio following. "Sir William's office-the bank's former chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John questioned. "Nothing," the man said. "Just left a little message." He held his security card against the reader by the door in order to unlock it, and walked inside. Hanging on the plain white wall behind a large desk was a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit. Adaline presumed this was the late Sir William that Sebastian spoke of. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint. The tag looked vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it was an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself was another almost horizontal straight line that had been sprayed.

Sebastian led the way towards the desk and stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, and Adaline took her spot beside John. The business man looked at Sherlock expectantly while the detective starred at the graffiti in fixed concentration.

"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian told them after they were back in his office looking at the security footage of the office from the previous night. The man flicked back and forth between the still photograph which was taken at 23:34:01. The photograph showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and then showed where a minute earlier -23:33:01 – the wall and portrait were still clean.

"So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into the office?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

The trio walked with Sebastian back to the reception area and were now studying a computer screen which showed the layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door had a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet." "That door didn't open last night," Sherlock stated.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you-five figures. The business man reached into his inside breast pocket then, pulling out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," Sherlock scoffed, walking away. Adaline, on the other hand, snatched the money away from the business man, who looked at her with surprise but then rolled his eyes and followed Sherlock.

Adaline then turned to John. "Here ya go, Mr. John." She placed the cheque in his hand and smiled at John, who looked down at the child with wide eyes. "Ada, what.." "You said you needed a job," she answered simply, shrugging. "Your card didn't take at the store so you probably don't have a lot of money right now. This might help."

"Ada, I…" John started. "Thank you," he ended, and smiled at the sweet little girl. "You're welcome!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, leading the two of them towards Sherlock and Sebastian.

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ahhhhhhh! Adaline and John's relationship is just so adorable. Sorry if I'm doting on it too much, but I just can't get enough of it. Anyway, please, please review! I love all of them! I'm going to respond to those of you who've reviewed in the next chapter, which will be up either tonight (fingers crossed) or tomorrow. I've almost finished it. Thank you guys so much for reading!


	9. The Blind Banker, part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanna thank all of you for reading! Also, thank you so much for the comments. You don't understand what they mean to me. Well, you might. Anyway, they're super special to me and everytime I read a comment it makes me want to continue writing just to get more love. Thank you again, so much. Please enjoy!

_Previously:_

_Adaline then turned to John. "Here ya go, Mr. John." She placed the cheque in his hand and smiled at John, who looked down at the child with wide eyes. "Ada, what.." "You said you needed a job," she answered simply, shrugging. "Your card didn't take at the story so you probably don't have a lot of money right now. This might help."_

_"Ada, I…" John started. "Thank you," he ended, and smiled at the sweet little girl. "You're welcome!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, leading the two of them towards Sherlock and Sebastian._

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH**

Sherlock returned to Sir William's office, taking photographs on his phone of the graffiti. Once he took several pictures he turned around, the symbols still floating in front of his mind's eye. He looked to the right where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower. Frowning and looking away in thought for a moment, he then walked over to the window and pulled up the blinds which were covering what was revealed to be a door onto a small balcony.

Sherlock opened the door and went out onto the balcony, looking up at the spectacular view over London before looking down at the very long drop to the ground which was easily hundreds of feet below. Sherlock looked along the balcony and bit his lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.

Not long afterwards, the three flat mates were heading back towards the escalators. "Two trips around the world this month," John said, not being able to help himself. "How did you know?" Sherlock smiled. "Weren't you listening?" he asked, and John just looked confused.

"His watch," Ada threw in. "What do you mean?" John asked, now very confused. "The time was right but the date was wrong," she explained. "It said two days ago." Sherlock continued, "Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month?" John asked, looking at the both of them. "How'd you get that part?"

"He had a New Breetling watch. Brand new," Adaline proudly answered. " _Breitling_ , Adaline," Sherlock corrected. "But she's correct. It was brand new and they only came out this February." Sherlock looked at his daughter then. "Good work," he praised, and she beamed. "But your manners are atrocious," he added, and she huffed. "He was a jerk," she muttered, and he ruffled her hair. "I believe ignoramus would describe him more clearly, darling."

John smiled at the two. "So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" "Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Hmm?"

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…" He trailed off then, allowing John to finish the sentence. "….they'll lead us to the person who sent it," John provided.

"Obvious." Sherlock and Adaline both proclaimed, the ladder nodding cutely for emphasis. "Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked.

"Pillars."

"What?"

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" John asked drily.

Sherlock continued talking as the three of them walked through the revolving doors of the bank out onto the street. "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He then held up the name card to show John.

"Not many Van Coons in the phone book." The detective looked around for a bit and then yelled out loudly, "Taxi!"

**SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSSH**

"Dad remind me what we're doing here again?" Adaline asked warily, looking up at the flat in front of them. "Making a house call, darling," he answered shortly, pressing the door buzzer which was marked 'Van Coon.' He released it and looked into the security camera which was above the buzzer, and waited. After a few seconds, when there was no response, he pressed it again, and Adaline sighed. This felt rude…

"So what? We just sit and wait for him to come back?" John questioned, folding his arms over his chest. Sherlock looked at the number of buzzers on the wall and stepped back to look up the front of the building, calculating the layout of the flats inside. He came back to the wall and looked at John triumphantly. "Just moved in."

"What?" "The floor above. New label." Sherlock pointed to another buzzer which had a handwritten label reading 'Wintle.' "They could've just replaced it," John suggested.

"I don't think anyone does that, Mr. John." Sherlock nodded in agreement with his daughter and opened his mouth, but before he said anything a woman's voice came over the speaker.

"Hello?"

Sherlock turned to the camera then, and Adaline watched as a horribly fake smile plastered itself on her father's face. "Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met," he began, smiling prettily into the camera. John looked on in disbelief. Where in the world did this performance come from?

"No, well-uh, I've just moved in," the voice of Ms. Wintle admitted.

Sherlock took this moment to look back at John with an _I told you so_ face, which he huffed at, and the detective turned back to the camera. "I thought I was the child…" he heard his daughter mumble, and he shot her a tiny glare.

"Actually, I'm in a bit of a pickle. I've locked my keys in my flat just now," Sherlock continued. "I've got my daughter out here with me and she forgot her shoes. You know how kids can be…" He turned and looked at his daughter pointedly. She gaped at him and he gave her a commanding look. She huffed but yanked off her shoes **(A/N: They can be whatever shoes you want but I'm personally imagining mini-converse…because that's just precious** ) The girl turned to John and handed them to the man, who dutifully held them, but not without rolling his eyes…again. John was pretty sure that if he rolled his eyes one more time, they were surely going to just roll back into his head and be lost forever.

Sherlock turned back to the camera and grimaced, biting his lip plaintively. "Oh, the poor dear," Ms. Whittle tutted. "D'you want me to buzz you in?" Mrs. Whittle questioned, and Sherlock felt triumph rush through him.

"That would be lovely," Sherlock gushed. "And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

Not long afterwards, Sherlock had flirted his way into the lucky Ms. Wintle's flat. Adaline was dragged along with him, having to endure not only shoeless feet, but being gushed over for the second time that day. Sherlock had to pry the poor child away from the woman, and was now pointedly ignoring the fearsome glares his tiny daughter was sending him as she shoved her shoes back on. "Why didn't you just tell her you forgot _your_ shoes? Can't believe you'd use your own child like that…" the girl grumbled on, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at her dramatics. **(A/N: Lots of that going on around here…)**

Sherlock was standing on Ms. Wintle's balcony, looking over the side to the ground several floors below. Luckily for him, he and Adaline were on the top floor where the flats have balconies which only run halfway across the front of the flat, whereas the floor below has full-width balconies. He sighed to himself. This was going to be the tricky bit. "Adaline, darling. Come here."

Adaline heard her father and grudgingly walked to him. She carefully walked out onto the balcony and tried not to look down. She had a tiny fear of heights….she'd been trying to overcome it because of how silly it sounded. Her brain knew that her fear was irrational but her body didn't seem to care much, for every time she had to face her fear of heights, her heart felt as though it was going to climb up her throat. Much like right now…

"Dad?"

"Do you want to do this?" Sherlock asked simply, not beating around the bush. She was clever enough to have figured out his plan already, and he wasn't going to waste more time going over it again.

Sherlock was not going to make her do anything she didn't want to do. He knew she had a fear of heights, and he was all for helping her face it, but she was still a child and even adults held irrational fears.

Adaline hesitated, looking from the balcony and then back to her father, who was giving her a steady look. She knew that he would support whatever decision she made, and wouldn't think her cowardly for saying no. The fact that he was even giving her the option though meant that he held no doubt for her. He knew his daughter could face her fears, and for that reason alone, she was able to make her decision. She nodded, and Sherlock studied her for a bit longer before nodding himself.

Sherlock began to carefully climb over the side of Ms Wintle's balcony. Adaline watched him fearfully, heart beginning to beat wildly. Sherlock easily dropped down onto the balcony outside Van Coon's flat. He dusted himself off a bit, and then took a step towards the railing. "Alright love. Your turn."

Adaline took a deep, calming breath. She made her way to the railing of the balcony, hands shaking slightly. She shook them to get them steady, berating herself for her behavior. _Stop being silly, Adaline._ Nodding determinedly to herself, she threw one leg over the railing, and then the other.

She tried desperately not to look down at this point, but doesn't everyone? Her heart flew into her throat looking down at the ground below her. "Daddy?" she said, voice shaking.

"Adaline," her father said simply, his deep voice steady and calming her nerves. "There's no possibility of you falling. I'm right here under you." The girl looked down and saw that her father was indeed, almost directly under her, already holding out his arms for her.

She took a deep breath, hoping it wouldn't be her last, and released herself from the railing. She fell through the air for only half a second, and before she even had time to squeak out in fright, strong arms had caught her in a firm grip.

Sherlock easily caught his daughter in his arms, and instead of putting her down immediately, he chose to hold her for a bit longer. Her tiny body was shaking a little bit and he felt a pang of worry go through him. Maybe he shouldn't have allowed her to do this…

Adaline looked up at her father then, and Sherlock was surprised but pleased when a huge, bright grin overtook her face. He smiled back at her and hugged her tightly for a second. "I'm proud of you," he told her. "I never doubted you for a second."

Adaline hugged her father back, elation running through her. She had done it!

Sherlock hugged her for a second or two more before placing her back on the ground and smoothing her hair down. The detective gestured to the door behind them. "Shall we continue?" Adaline nodded and the detective now turned towards the door, inwardly sighing with relief when he found it to be unlocked. That could've been bad.

He and Adaline made their way inside to a very elegantly decorated living room. This was clearly the apartment of a wealthy person, with white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter. Sherlock looked at everything as he began going through the room. He walked through the kitchen while Adaline studied a pile of books on the coffee table.

The front door to the flat buzzed, and John's voice was heard from the other side of the door. "Sherlock?" The man walked into the hallway, still looking around for details that stood out to him.

"Sherlock, are you there?" John asked again. "Adaline?"

Sherlock opened the door to the small bathroom and glanced inside at the few items on the shelf opposite. He shut the door and walked to a larger door which was closed. He tried the knob and found it to be locked.

"Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in…" John trailed off. Sherlock backed away from the door in front of him determinedly. He turned side-on, braced himself, and shoulder-charged himself forwards. The door burst open, and he slowly walked into the bedroom.

"Dad, do you want me to let Mr. John in?" Adaline asked, still in the living room. She heard a loud bang come from the hallway where her father was and went to investigate the noise. "Adaline, don't come back here," her father suddenly ordered, and she was puzzled.

"Dad wha-" Her question was cut off when she walked in the room and saw a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead. She backed away in shock, but when she did, she tripped over something lying in the floor.

Sherlock whipped around and saw his seven year old sprawled on the floor, still looking at the dead man on the bed. Damn it. He'd wanted to prevent this. "I told you not to come back here," he scolded gently, walking over to the girl and helping her up. Adaline didn't answer her father, and looked down to see that she had tripped over a gun.

"Did he kill himself?" she asked softly, and Sherlock sighed. Adaline was his daughter, there was no doubt about that. She was so very clever already for just being seven, and he went back and forth with his feelings of wanting to teach her everything he could about his work, and wanting to shield her from the world just a bit longer. It seemed like some decisions were going to be taken out of his hands though, just for the simple fact of her being his daughter.

"I don't believe he did, no," he answered back truthfully. "The clues don't seem to add up to suicide."


	10. The Blind Banker, part four

**Recap-** _Sherlock whipped around and saw his seven year old sprawled on the floor, still looking at the dead man on the bed. Damn it. He'd wanted to prevent this. "I told you not to come back here," he scolded gently, walking over to the girl and helping her up. Adaline didn't answer her father, and looked down to see that she had tripped over a gun._

_"Did he kill himself?" she asked softly, and Sherlock sighed. Adaline was his daughter, there was no doubt about that. She was so very clever already for just being seven, and he went back and forth with his feelings of wanting to teach her everything he could about his work, and wanting to shield her from the world just a bit longer. It seemed like some decisions were going to be taken out of his hands though, just for the simple fact of her being his daughter._

_"I don't believe he did, no," he answered back truthfully. "The clues don't seem to add up to suicide."_

A little bit later, John had been let in, _finally_ , his words alone, the police had been called, and a photographer was busy snapping pictures.

Adaline was next to the forensics officer who was dusting the nearby mirror for fingerprints. She found the deed fascinating and had kindly asked the man if she could observe him. Distant voices suggested that other forensic officers were elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock had taken off his coat and was in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves.

"D'you think he lost a _lot_ of money? Suicide is pretty common among city boys," John pondered. When Sherlock told him what Adaline had stumbled on, he'd mentally freaked out a bit. It didn't matter _whose_ daughter she was, a little girl was still a little girl; he prayed she didn't need therapy to deal with all of the death she seemed to be surrounded by.

"Like I told Adaline, John, we don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on," John cut in, eyebrow raised, "The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony, which by the way.." he trailed off. At this point, Sherlock had squatted down by the suitcase on the floor which was near the bed.

"...Yes?" Sherlock questioned, pausing to look at his flatmate as he opened the case and started pittering through the contents. John squatted down across from him, and spoke in a low voice, "Have you lost your damn mind, Sherlock?" John asked, voice tight.

Sherlock registered the new tone in his voice and looked up, very curious now. "What specifically are you speaking about?"

"You let a little girl drop down a balcony?! Sherlock, she's _seven._ What in the world possessed you to let her do that?! Anything could've happened! She could've.."

"I assure you that I calculated the situation perfectly. She was in no danger whatsoever," Sherlock stated, looking bored now. He continued sifting through the case. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry…"

"You are capable of miscalculations! Her foot could've slipped, the wind could've blown, _anything_ , and you…"

"John," Sherlock interrupted, looking up again, face serious. "I appreciate the concern you're showing my daughter, but I must remind you that I am her father. I would not have allowed her to jump from the balcony if I thought for one second she was in real danger of falling." The two men stared at each other for a bit, before finally, John's jaw tightened. "Fine. I'll get off of it. For now. But I'm not done berating you yet, so rest assured, it will be brought up again."

"Never doubted that for a second," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do you mind if I…." he glanced down, silently asking permission to continue. John stood up from his squat, and waved an open palm down towards the suitcase, silently communicating his permission.

"There's a deep indentation in the clothing inside of the case…" The curly haired man straightened and directed towards John, "There was something tightly packed within it."

"Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

"Problem?"

"Yeah, I'm not desperate enough to root around some bloke's dirty underwear." Sherlock walked to the foot of the bed. "Those symbols at the bank-the graffiti. Why were they put there?" "I suppose it's some sort of code," John answered, leaning against the wall with a sigh.

"Obviously," Sherlock shot back. He took a very close look at Van Coon's legs, then his shoes. He moved up his body and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well maybe he wasn't answering," John shrugged. "Oh good, you follow," Sherlock responded, nodding.

"No," John replied bluntly.

Sherlock threw him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands. "What kind of message would everyone try to avoid?" The detective's question made John frown in confusion. "What about this morning?" Sherlock continued. "Those letters you were looking at."

"Bills," a frown painted the ex-soldier's face. Sherlock gently pried open the dead man's mouth. At this point, the forensic officer had moved on to another room, and Adaline was making her way to her father. Her face grew into one of wonder when she witnessed him opening the mouth that belonged to the man on the bed, and pulling out what appeared to be a black flower. Air hissed out from the dead man's lungs.

She peered over the bed at the thing, watching as her father turned it every which way, green eyes wide with curiosity. "I believe he was being threatened," Sherlock concluded.

"Bag this up will you…." a man's voice said from outside of the room.

Adaline held up an evidence bag for Sherlock so the flower was put in a safe place, the man having to swat his daughter's hand gently a few times as she attempted to touch the flower. "Not by the gas board…" John added, leaning closer to peer into the evidence bag.

"...and see if you can get prints off this glass," the man's voice continued. A very young looking, plain clothed police officer walked into the bedroom, planting his hands on his hips. Sherlock turned from Van Coon and walked to the man, holding a hand out. "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met."

Adaline walked over to Sherlock, hugging his leg from behind. She placed her right hand into his pocket as she often did, to feel more secure. "Yeah I know who you are," the new guy said, ignoring the hand held out to him. "I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock lowered his hand and gave the evidence bag to the officer, his expression seeming rather huffy, as though he were saying 'well then.'

"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?" Sherlock questioned, making Ada look up towards the suited officer. "Will Uncle Greg be coming?" she asked eagerly. The officer glanced down at the child, did a double take, and gave a sharp look to Sherlock. "You brought a child to a crime scene? She isn't allowed in here!"

"She's in training," Sherlock shot out, asking again, "Lestrade?"

"He's busy," the officer answered, looking quite put out now. " _I'm_ in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock. You cannot have a child in here. This is ridiculous." Sherlock shoots him a look of surprise, then turned and shared his look with John, who pursed his lips as well. The man appeared far too young to be an inspector.

Dimmock gave a last look to Adaline and then turned and swished himself out of the room. Sherlock looked to his daughter. "Hang on to John for a bit will you, love?"

"Okay!" she chirped, and skipped back towards the shorter man, who smiled at the curly headed child, grabbing her right hand within his left. The three followed _Inspector Dimmock_ into the living room. "We're obviously looking at a suicide," the young man said, handing the evidence bag to one of his forensic people.

"That does seem the only explanation for the facts," John started, voice hesitant. Sherlock snapped his latex gloves off and turned to his flatmate. "Wrong. It's one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts." He turned to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it." He directed this statement to both John and the inspector.

"Like?" Dimmock rebounded. "The wound was on the _right_ side of his head."

"And?" Dimmock said, and for a second Sherlock gave him a look as though he pitied the man. "Adaline?" he said simply.

"Van Coon was left handed daddy," she said, hiding behind John a bit as the men in the room directed their attention towards her. "Now how do you know that little girl?" the inspector asked, and Adaline was visibly confused at his question. "I.." she stuttered out, and John put a hand on her head for support. "I just looked…" she whispered, and the man raised an eyebrow, laughing incredulously.

"I'm still wondering why a _child_ is at a crime scene!" the inspector thundered, and Sherlock stood straighter. "She seems to be doing a better job than you lot! If Van Coon was left handed, but the wound was on the right side of his head, shooting himself would've required quite a bit of contortion, don't you think?"

"We have no idea if he was left handed…" Dimmock trailed off, but Sherlock was on a roll now. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left…"

"Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right hand and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?" "No," John spoke then, sounding tired. "I think you've covered everything."

"Oh, I might as well," Sherlock argued, whining almost. "I'm almost at the bottom of the list.." Adaline giggled when John nodded as if saying 'Might as well.'

Sherlock pointed towards the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He turned to Dimmock, quite an impatient look on his handsome face. "It is highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the _right_ side of his head."

"Conclusion?" he questioned, and no one said anything. "Oh good Lord, someone answer me." "Someone else shot him," Adaline answered, and smiled widely when her father pointed at her, huge grin cutting across his face. "Bingo, darling!"

Adaline's stomach let out an intimidating growl, making her pout. She hadn't really gotten to eat anything. She'd had a small snack coming back from the market this morning, but she'd missed breakfast. "Mr. John," she whispered, tugging on the man's jacket. "Yes?" John asked, sounding distracted. He was listening intently to the men in front of him, trying in vain to keep up with his flat mate's reasonings.

"I'm hungry," Adaline told him, and her stomach let out another growl. Adaline started fidgeting about, swinging her arms and jumping up and down a bit on her heels. John raised an eyebrow but nodded. "I think we're almost done here, then we'll get a bite, okay?"

"Kay.." she whispered, trying very hard not to get whiny. John noticed this, and looked up again, intending to tell Sherlock the new development. "Sherlock, we about done here?"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report.." the man was saying to the inspector. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Sherlock shot the man a very condescing look. "Look at you," he cooed, "finally asking the right questions."

"Daddy," the man heard, and Sherlock looked over to his daughter. She was hiding behind John, fiddling with her hands, jumping up and down lightly on her heels. He sighed, understanding that she was about to become very whiny, very soon. "We're done here," he said simply, and walked away from the young man in front of him. He began putting on his scarf, coat and gloves.

The blond headed girl left John's side to run to her father, grabbing the hand that he held out to her. "John," he called, and flounced out of the room, daughter bouncing along in anticipation. John looked around to Dimmock and pointed apologetically at the departing drama queen before following the father and daughter out the door.

Sebastian was having a peaceful lunch with some colleagues from work. "...and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!" he let out a laugh, and the table laughed with him. His laugh was cut short however, when he noticed Sherlock and John storming towards him.

As soon as they stepped into the restaurant, Adaline's stomach began growling full force. The mouthwatering smells of pasta and soup assaulted her senses, and when John noticed she wasn't with them anymore, he took an alarmed look around the restaurant.

He found the little girl trailing behind a waitress who seemed to be carrying a tray of meatloaf and some sort of vegetable. He quickly trotted up behind her, snatching her hand. "Adaline," he reprimanded, and she looked up at him betrayed. He sighed at the pitiful look she was throwing him, green eyes wide, and..were those tears?! It seems as though hunger caused Adaline to act like...well, the child that she was.

"Your father and I need to talk to the banker man, and then I promise, you'll get to eat. Just a bit longer, alright?" he pleaded, and Adaline bit her lip, trying to shove down the urge to stomp her foot. Her head lowered and with another sigh, John gently pushed her towards the table her father had stopped at.

"It was a threat," Sherlock explained to the man, who looked quite affronted at his meal being interrupted. "That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" "I don't think this can wait, sorry, Sebastian," Sherlock denied, not looking sorry at all. "One of your traders - someone who worked in your office - was killed."

"What?" Sebastian gasped, and the men at his table looked at him now, curiosity shining in their eyes. "Van Coon," John answered, "the police are at his flat." "Killed?!" Sebastian repeated, seeming to be in shock.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," Sherlock gestured to the table, sarcasm evident in his tone. "Still want to make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" Sebastian put his glass of water down and nervously ran his finger inside his shirt collar.

Shortly after, Sebastian and his boys, along with Sherlock, had relocated to the restaurant bathroom. John had managed to grab a table, and Adaline was quite happily munching on some of the meatloaf she had smelled earlier. She was picking at her vegetables that consisted of beans and asparagus. "Don't like asparagus?" John asked, small smile on his face.

The cute girl threw him a look of disgust, and John chuckled when he realized it made her look like a petulant Sherlock. "Asparagus makes your urine smell funny," she said matter of factly, and both of John's eyebrows rose. "Well, you're not wrong…" he muttered, and then quickly turned his head to face the bathroom.

Sebastian was storming out, Sherlock very close behind him. "They've got it wrong, Sebastian," Sherlock was saying, pleading with the man. "He was murdered."

"Well I'm afraid they don't see it like that," the banker man answered, looking down at his phone when it beeped again.

"Seb," Sherlock ground the man's name out.

"And neither does my boss," he continued sternly. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." At this, he turned from Sherlock and walked out of the restaurant.

John waited until he was out of sight before looking up at Sherlock from the restaurant booth. The two men were silent for a bit. Adaline took a large bite of her loaf, her converse covered feet kicking happily against the bottom of the booth.

"I thought bankers were supposed to be heartless bastards.." John stated, plopping his hand in his fist. Sherlock's jaw twitched and he walked over to the booth, scooting his daughter over with a wave of his hand.

"What's bastard?" Adaline asked innocently, offering her father a bite of green beans when he looked down at her.

"A bastard is a person born of unmarried parents," the father answered, actually taking a bite of the vegetable. Adaline was silent for a few seconds. "Am I a bastard?"

"No, of course not!" John answered vehemently, at the same time Sherlock said, "Yes."

"Sherlock..." John sighed, rubbing his eyes and looking absolutely done with the situation. Adaline nodded in acceptance of her father's answer though, not looking very bothered at all. The remainder of lunch time was spent in quiet contemplation as the two men allowed the girl to finish her meal, both caught up within their own thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: basically, I'm writing this story for myself. I just had this idea in my head and I needed to let it out. I realize that Sherlock might not be Sherlocky enough, but as I said, he has a daughter, a young daughter, so that's going to make him act a bit different. More human. anyway, I'll get the second chapter up quick as I can. make sure and review if you can!


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